


The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude

by fakelight



Series: Impressing the Czar [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Ballet, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:18:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7322134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakelight/pseuds/fakelight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You two are soloists now. You didn't put in your time in the corps, so they'll be waiting for you to screw up, they'll have a reason for when you fail. Don't let that happen."</p><p>Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark have just won the Prix de Panem, the first pas de deux to take the Grand Prix. Now as the youngest soloists in Capitol Ballet Company history, all they have to do is survive four ballets a week, convince the audience their partnership is everything it appears to be, and hope their contracts are renewed. If only it were that easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Katniss Everdeen, Grand Prix winner and the youngest soloist in the history of the Capitol Ballet Company, is running late to company class.

She has a meeting about her casting for the upcoming season after class, and to be late would be disastrous. Katniss is frantically trying to pull her hair into a bun and pull her tights over her leotard on at the same time, when she hears the door across the hall slam shut.

Katniss freezes, waiting, hoping. Her heart sinks when she hears the elevator ding with no knock on her door. Peeta’s still shutting her out.

It’s been one month since they were crowned the winners of the Prix de Panem, the first pas de deux to ever take the Grand Prix. Their moment of triumph should have been a joyous occasion, but instead Katniss can’t think back on it without her mouth going dry.

On a day filled with split-second decisions, the one she made to accept the soloist contracts offered by Coriolanus Snow, the Artistic Director of CBC, is the one she agonizes over most.

It’s not that Katniss regrets her decision, because she knows it was the only one she could have made. Even Mr. A agreed she’d had no other choice. But the repercussions still spiraling out from that one moment have turned her life upside down.

Instead of returning to Twelve, to her sister, to the academy where Katniss had spent the last six years training, the last month has been spent taking class with the company in the Capitol, moving all her things into the apartment Madame T found for her, and enduring long, awkward silences whenever she spends any time in Peeta’s company.

Mr. A had told her she’d done the right thing then, when the curtain fell and she and Peeta were swarmed by what seemed like everyone in the theater. All offering congratulations, expressing their happiness at their sudden good fortune. Katniss had just felt drained. Even Prim, beaming with pride, couldn’t shake the pit Katniss had in her stomach.

She had sat, alone, in her dressing room, making no attempts to remove her tutu or makeup, staring at herself in the mirror, remembering what had happened in that room only an hour earlier. The joy she’d felt in Peeta’s arms. Mourning the loss of it.

Peeta had left her there, parting with only a flat “I understand,” as she’d tried to explain her actions. Since then, despite Katniss’ fumbling attempts at reconciliation, the only words they’ve exchanged have been perfunctory greetings as they pass in the hallway, and the bare minimum required for when they partner each other.

He isn’t ignoring her completely, but it’s as if the Prix never happened, like they’d never found the trust that sustained Katniss through the entire competition. They’d had their moments of disconnect while dancing during the Prix, but this feels lasting, permanent.

Sometimes Katniss catches him glancing at her, but then his eyes flick away, like they used to.

The only upside seems to be that while their connection is gone, their dancing has only improved, their technique honed to the level where they look like they belong in the company. Their turns sharp, their jumps soaring. Stripped of all emotion, focused on the movement.

Katniss realizes she’s been standing still, lost in her thoughts, and that she's even later than she was before. She curses, tearing out of her apartment, hair streaming behind her. She’ll have to throw it up in a clip.

She's already sweating when she rushes into the building the company and the academy share, making her way to the largest studio where most of the company has already settled themselves into their usual spots at the barre.

Katniss can’t help but look around for Peeta, and finds him warming up at a full barre. Katniss walks quickly to an empty space near him and starts pulling her shoes on.

“Late night, Firebird?”

Katniss looks up to see her fellow soloist Johanna Mason leaning over from the barre across from her. Katniss owes Johanna more than she can say, after Johanna had taken one look at Katniss’ Academy-approved leotard over her tights her first day in class and dragged her out to buy something that didn’t look like it’d been designed back in Vaganova’s day.

As Katniss tried on leotard after leotard, Johanna gave Katniss a shouted introduction to the workings of the company over the dressing room door. Katniss doesn’t know what she would have done if Johanna hadn’t taken her under her wing.

Most of the other dancers in the company ignore Katniss, but there are a few who stare daggers her way, either with jealousy or indignation at a 17-year-old soloist, one who hasn’t put in her time in the corps.

Katniss does a quick check to see if anyone’s eavesdropping, but the other company members are absorbed with their stretching or having their own conversations.

“I have my casting meeting today,” Katniss says, scootching herself closer to Johanna. “I’m supposed to meet with Plutarch after class. I couldn’t sleep.”

“It’s so cute that you care,” Johanna says with the jaded air of the career soloist. “I remember my first casting after I got promoted. I had all these dreams of a Gulnare here, a Lilac Fairy there, creating a role in a new ballet. I think I walked out with a Big Swan and the _Bayadère_ pas de quatre. So, don’t get your hopes up, is all I’m saying.”

“I’m not,” Katniss says honestly. She doesn’t expect Snow will cast her in anything, that she’ll spend this entire season as part of the C Cast, only going on if absolutely no one else is available, or maybe during a Wednesday matinee.

Katniss knows she’s only in the company because Snow wanted to control her and Peeta. The tiniest part of her, the part she still allows to dream, hopes for more, but over the last month Katniss has learned to temper her expectations.

“Oh, really? You couldn’t sleep over not getting your hopes up?” Johanna asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, so it would be nice to dance something big,” Katniss admits. “Like, I don’t know, Sapphire? Or Little Swans, I already know it.”

“Any girl who’s made it into pointe shoes knows Little Swans,” Johanna snarks, “so don’t consider that an advantage. And nothing with your Prince over there?” Johanna nods toward Peeta, who’s a few spaces down.

Katniss fidgets uncomfortably. Peeta, as if he’d sensed that they’re talking about him, raises his head and looks around. His eyes meet Katniss’ and for a brief, blissful second, Katniss feels connected to him again, like the last month hasn’t happened. Then he blinks, and the moment is lost.

“I don’t think that’s going to work,” Katniss says eventually, looking down at her feet. She digs her elbow into her arch punishingly, working out the cramp that had developed as she ran to the studios.

Johanna shakes her head, well aware of and exasperated with the saga that is Katniss’ inner turmoil over Peeta. “You don’t really get a choice in the matter. You dance with who you’re cast with. And word on the street is people are already calling the box office trying to get tickets for your performances. As in both of you. Together. So get ready.”

Katniss makes a face at Johanna, sure that she’s joking, but Johanna’s expression isn’t amused. Katniss can’t think of a response, can’t imagine that anyone would want to come to see her and Peeta perform specifically. She knows they’ve been declared the darlings of the ballet world, but first-year soloists aren’t a draw, not in the way principal dancers are.

Johanna lets out a short bark of laughter at the expression on Katniss’ face, and pushes Katniss away with her foot as Plutarch enters the studio. “Enjoy your meeting. But if you take my Myrtha away from me, I’m coming for you.”

* * *

After class, Katniss makes her way to Plutarch’s office, trying and failing not to be nervous.

She hadn’t realized when he’d taught their Prix classes that Plutarch was also the Associate Artistic Director of CBC, but her familiarity with his teaching style was the only thing that got her through her first company class.

And now he will determine Katniss’ trajectory within the company. What roles she learns, what she’ll perform this upcoming season. Where she starts will determine if she rises or falls. Katniss thinks Plutarch likes her, he’s had her demonstrate the adagio a few times in class, but she isn’t sure if a good adagio translates into good casting.

If Snow even allows her to dance, that is. Katniss knows Snow didn’t offer her the contract based on talent, only on spite, but she’s here now. She’s ready for this.

Plutarch’s secretary tells Katniss to take a seat once she arrives at his office, that he’s still in a meeting. Katniss sinks into the couch set against the wall, anxiously awaiting the summons, getting out her nervous energy by cracking all of her joints. Katniss can see the secretary wincing at the sound, and hopes this might get her into the room sooner.

“He’s ready for you, dear.”

Katniss stands and puts a smile on her face, one that projects confidence and reliability, one that says “32 fouettés aren’t a problem,” and opens Plutarch’s door.

The smile drops from her face instantly.

The Artistic Director of the Capitol Ballet Company, Coriolanus Snow, is sitting behind Plutarch’s desk. Plutarch is nowhere to be found.

“Miss Everdeen.”

Katniss looks around, for an excuse to run, for someone to save her, but she’s on her own. Even Plutarch’s secretary seems to have disappeared. Steeling herself, she shuts the door behind her, and faces the man who maneuvered her into his company. The man who sabotaged her performance. The man who holds her fate in his hands.

“Director Snow.”

He gestures to the chairs in front of Plutarch’s desk, inviting her to sit. Katniss perches herself on the edge of her seat, her body tense, ready to flee at the first sign of a threat. Snow looks pleased at her discomfort. Katniss’ skin crawls.

“I thought it was high time I met with my newest soloist. I was so very pleased when you accepted the contract. How are you liking my company?” Snow asks, pleasantly. There’s an undercurrent of menace, but Katniss decides to match Snow's comportment, and responds in kind.

“It’s been a dream come true, to join CBC. I never could have imagined ending up here so soon, but I’m here, and I’m ready.”

“That you are. For now.” Snow says the last two words lightly, like there isn’t a threat behind them.

Katniss can’t keep a brief look of confusion from passing over her face. Would he really kick her out of the company, already? Katniss knows the man is ruthless, after what he did to Mr. A, but she can’t imagine he’d let her go after a month, especially considering she hasn’t even performed a single role yet.

“You are aware that your contract is only for one year.”

“I was not,” Katniss says slowly. Katniss hasn’t even read her contract, it had been whisked away from her as soon as she’d signed it onstage at the Prix. She knows she’s being paid, of course, but the intricacies of her position in the company remain a mystery to her. Snow smiles.

“It’s standard, of course. And pending your success, I can’t see why it wouldn’t be renewed. However . . .” Snow lingers over the last word, drawing it out. He thinks for a moment, seems to come to a decision. “Shall we be plain with each other, Miss Everdeen?”

“I think that would be best,” Katniss replies, unsure of where this is leading.

Snow’s expression becomes deathly serious. “For reasons I do not understand, you and your partner are beloved by the masses, both here in the Capitol, and across the districts. I find your technique to be passable, for Twelve, but certainly not up to the standards of our Academy. Your épaulement is lacking. You have bad feet. I argued strenuously against awarding you the Grand Prix, but,” Snow pauses, and looks down his nose at Katniss, “I was overruled.”

Katniss flinches back at the sting of Snow’s words. She had thought a lifetime of taking class and being corrected had given her a certain armor around criticism, but she's never had her flaws stated so baldly.

“However, I must take opportunities when they are presented to me, and I believe you and your partner will galvanize our subscriber base where other dancers have failed. Or even provide an incentive for non-traditional donors.”

“You think we'll bring in more money,” Katniss says flatly.

“Precisely, Miss Everdeen. Of course, if you fail to do so, then your employment with this company will be useless to me.”

Katniss’ stomach churns. Her future with CBC is contingent not on her talent, but on her ability to make the public love her, enough to throw money at the company for the pleasure of seeing her dance.

“Per the many conversations I've had with company sponsors, your relationship with Mr. Mellark is quite the draw. The star-crossed partners from District Twelve. And who am I to stand in the way of young love?” Snow’s tone makes it clear he's aware of the strategy Katniss and Peeta employed to lure in the sponsors at the Prix.

“And as such, this season’s casting will provide you with ample opportunities to show me your value to this company. To bring in an audience. To keep them coming back.”

“We’ll do it,” Katniss says quickly, before Snow can continue.

Snow blinks in response.

Katniss feels like he’s waiting for more from her. “We’ll make them love us. They’ll sponsor us, come to all our performances. They’ll come from across the country. For us.” Snow smiles, and stands abruptly.

“Wonderful. Your first task will be to woo the districts. Remind them of the superiority the Capitol stands for. Plutarch will go over the particulars, but, for now,” Snow’s voice becomes pleasant once more as he walks around the desk and opens the door, “welcome to the company.”

The door shuts, and Katniss is alone. She slumps in her chair, exhausted by her encounter with Snow. She turns over their conversation in her mind. Katniss hadn't even considered that her position as soloist, however much it has changed her life, for better or worse, could be taken away from her.

Katniss hears the door open behind her. “Hello, Katniss,” Plutarch says, edging himself around the desk. “I hope your meeting with our Artistic Director went well,” he says, settling himself into his chair.

Katniss composes herself. “Very well,” she replies, her voice steady.

Plutarch looks up sharply, considering her. Eventually he nods. “I see.” Pulling a desk drawer open, he takes a folder out. “Well, first things first, welcome to the company. I'm sorry this is the first time we’re meeting, but my Prix duties always seem to have me playing catch up once I return.” Katniss nods politely, trying not to stare at the folder Plutarch is holding, that surely contains her casting.

Plutarch notices her wavering gaze, and raises an eyebrow. He smiles indulgently. “Let's get to this.” Opening the folder, he spreads the papers inside, what looks like a monthly calendar across the desk.

“So it looks like you'll be missing two weeks of rehearsals for your tour, which hopefully won't be a problem.”

“Tour?” Katniss asks, confused.

“I have you and Peeta marked out as guest artists, performing in the end of year productions at the district academies. It cuts into the _Swan Lake_ and the mixed rep rehearsal blocks we have marked off, so we’ll have to put some special rehearsals in early so you can learn the pas de trois and _Vertiginous Thrill_.” Plutarch pulls the calendar toward him and starts marking off dates.

Katniss reels from taking in so much information in at once. The tour must be her opportunity to convince the districts. Forsythe. Extra rehearsals. She latches onto the one thing she understands. “I'm dancing the pas de trois?”

Plutarch looks up at her, distracted. “Hmm? Oh, yes. The pas de trois and Little Swans in _Swan Lake_ , and _The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude_ for our mixed repertory week. I assume you already know Little Swans. Then Bluebird and the Violente Fairy in _Sleeping Beauty_ , and then the peasant pas in _Giselle_. And something for the gala, of course, but we'll get to that later. Unfortunately, there weren’t any roles for you in _Raymonda_ or _Cinderella_ , but I think you’ll have enough to be getting on with.”

Katniss can't breathe. These are all huge roles in important ballets. She's supposed to be a student right now. “Are you sure that's my folder? You didn't pull Johanna’s out by mistake?”

Plutarch shakes his head. “No, this is your casting. I don't think I need to tell you who your partner will be for all of your performances.”

Katniss feels both reassured and terrified. She'll be dancing with Peeta. While Peeta isn't speaking to her. They must impress the audience, enough to keep them coming back, or their contracts won't be renewed. They will be touring the district academies, performing in the end of year productions, living examples of the heights students of the academies can reach. Making the districts fall in love with them. She has no idea how they’re going to pull this off.

Plutarch hands her the calendar from the folder with her performance dates circled, rehearsals scheduled daily. Katniss glances over it quickly, and then, not wanting Plutarch to see her so flustered, stands to leave.

“Thank you,” she says, sure her abrupt exit is the height of rudeness, but she needs to be anywhere else right now, needs to process what has just happened.

Leaning back in his chair, Plutarch regards Katniss nonchalantly. “We're all very excited to see where you go, Katniss. I think you've made a very interesting addition to the company, and that you’ll bring a unique interpretation to these roles.”

Katniss bobs a quick curtsy, and leaves, pulling the door shut behind her. Plutarch’s secretary is still gone. Katniss closes her eyes, leans back against the door, exhales slowly. Breathes in and out. She doesn't know how long she's been standing there when she hears a familiar voice.

“You okay?”

Katniss stays leaning against the door, sure that she's hearing things, the meeting having affected her so much that she's starting to hallucinate.

“Katniss?”

She feels a hand take hers, and Katniss opens her eyes. Peeta’s standing in front of her, a concerned look on his face.

“What happened in there? You look like you're going to pass out.”

Peeta pulls her over to the couch and sits her down, crouching down in front of her. Katniss swallows, and shakes her head. For a moment, she thinks about telling Peeta everything, Snow’s threat, the tour, their roles, but she's so overwhelmed by the sight of him looking at her without indifference that all she can say is, “I'm doing Little Swans.”

Peeta smiles, and Katniss feels like she’s seeing the sun again after the gloom of winter. How has she survived so long without his smiles in her life? “That's great, Katniss.” Peeta glances toward Plutarch’s closed door. “How did it go? Anything I should be aware of?”

“Your casting meeting is now?” Katniss asks.

“I’m early, but yeah,” Peeta responds.

“And you’re just meeting with Plutarch?”

“I think so, why, did you meet with someone else?”

Katniss shakes her head quickly. Peeta will find out about the tour soon enough, and she’s already forced him into a soloist contract he never wanted. He shouldn’t have to suffer the burden of Katniss’ knowledge as well, Snow’s threat that their careers could be over before they’ve barely had a chance to begin.

“Okay.” Peeta smiles at her again. “So aside from Little Swans, are you dancing anything else?”

Something about the way Peeta’s treating her, the kindness after so long combined with the guilt Katniss feels, makes her inexplicably angry.

“Aren’t you supposed to be mad at me?” It’s childish, Katniss knows this, to lash out when Peeta’s finally acting like he wants to be around her for the first time in a month, but she can’t seem to control herself.

Peeta looks hurt, taken aback, then his face settles into resigned regret. “I guess I deserve that.”

For a moment they stare at each other, neither of them speaking. Katniss can feel the emotions she’s suppressed, pushed deep down inside, struggling to break free. She hasn't been this close to Peeta outside of class since the Prix.

The sound of Plutarch’s door opening breaks the spell. Peeta stands as Katniss looks away from him and begins to gather her things.

She doesn’t want Plutarch seeing them together right now, with whatever their relationship is still in tatters, not when they’re going to be dancing together all season. Not when they’ve been cast together for a reason.

“I thought I heard you, Peeta. Come on in, if you’re ready.”

Katniss hurriedly walks toward the exit as she hears Peeta greeting Plutarch. She feels a pang of regret over her bitterness toward Peeta. He doesn’t deserve her scorn, if anything she deserves his.

As she reaches the doorway, she turns around.

“Peeta.”

He’s just entering Plutarch’s office, but he stops and turns toward her.

“Merde.” Katniss tries to convey both an apology and faith into the word. Faith in him. In herself. That they can get through this.

His smile is faint, but it’s there, and Peeta nods once as he closes the door behind him. Katniss feels something as she walks away, something she hasn’t felt in ages, but it takes her until she’s back in her apartment to realize it’s hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Swan Lake_
> 
> [Pas de trois](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9HlUPVTT9jA)   
>  [Little Swans](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jSTia7AmWDI)   
>  [Big Swans](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R9PLRbdUdO4)
> 
> _[The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude](https://vimeo.com/112429439) _
> 
> _Sleeping Beauty_
> 
> [The Bluebird pas de deux](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kSGX3zjkLfw)   
>  [Violente Fairy variation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bf6lOE7TAaU)   
>  [Sapphire (Jewels)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4jCTAJLv1Vo)   
>  [Lilac Fairy variation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DOrO9YIubts)
> 
> _Giselle_
> 
> [Peasant pas de deux](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GM-PUdUgIgs)   
>  [Myrtha variation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5QYsOZz2JRM)
> 
> _Le Corsaire_
> 
> [Gulnare (Pas d'esclave)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XuIf9_4K1bM)
> 
> _La Bayadère_
> 
> [Pas de quatre](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6suEfHicMSQ)


	2. Chapter 2

Katniss heads to the Academy library that evening to do research, which consists of watching every recording the Academy has on file of the roles she’ll be dancing.

The footage goes back years and years, and Katniss watches as styles change, technique develops, interpretations evolve, and realizes that some day, some newly cast first-year soloist could be watching a video of her.

The thought is sobering, but also gives Katniss a renewed sense of purpose. It’s more than wanting to do well because Snow dictated it, but because she’s doing what she’s always dreamed of, and if only for that reason, she will be perfect. Her dancing is the one thing she still retains any control over, and for that, she will do anything.

Katniss also takes a little joy from catching a glimpse of Mr. A as Siegfried in the background during one of the pas de trois videos. She almost keeps watching, to see him dance White Swan, but focuses on her pieces.

Katniss wakes up the next morning, determined. She puts on her most professional-looking leotard, black tights. Hair braided and bunned.

As she performs the micro-surgery that is cutting her toenails, Katniss thinks through the conversation she needs to have. She knows that at some point today, she’ll have to confront whatever stands between her and Peeta, that they can’t continue on like this. Yesterday gave her hope, but today is about action.

The only thing on her schedule after class is a rehearsal for “Tour” and Katniss decides to pick up some shoes before she’s surprised with whatever she and Peeta will be dancing in the districts.

Katniss knocks on the shoe room door and Flavius motions her in from where he’s talking to Johanna. “So you want to lengthen the vamp and go to a 3/4 shank?”

“I just feel like I’m arching out constantly,” Johanna explains.

Flavius makes a hmm-ing noise, and makes a note on a piece of paper he’s holding. “I’m putting in an order in a few days, so if you want to change anything else, let me know before then.”

Johanna thanks Flavius and points to Katniss as she leaves. “I’m waiting out here, I want to hear how you made out.” Katniss nods in acknowledgement, and follows Flavius as he wanders the aisles. The shoe room has a distinctive smell, one that takes Katniss back to her first pair, a mix of glue and canvas and something undefinable.

“Katniss, Katniss Everdeen, 4, double X, arrow maker,” Flavius muses out loud as he searches for Katniss’ cubby. “Here we are. How many?”

“Six, I think,” Katniss replies.

“Better make it seven, just in case,” Flavius says, and starts putting shoes into Katniss’ bag. “Tell me if you want anything on your shoes changed, I know I had to convince you just to pick a maker, but you’re a company member now. We take care of our own.” Katniss promises she will, and starts to head to class, only to come up short when she runs into Johanna outside.

“So what’d you get?” Johanna asks impatiently. “Aside from the pas de trois, of course.”

“How’d you know I’m dancing the pas de trois?”

“It’s a pas de _trois_ , brainless. I’m the other girl. I had a meeting yesterday too,” Johanna says, rolling her eyes at the look of confusion on Katniss’ face.

Katniss is about to respond with excitement at the prospect of dancing with Johanna, but Johanna cuts her off. “Roles, Katniss. Tell me.”

Katniss huffs in annoyance, and ticks off her roles on her fingers. “Little Swans, _Vertiginous Thrill_ , peasant pas, Bluebird, and Violente Fairy.”

“Is that crack fairy or pointing fairy?” Johanna asks.

“Pointing,” Katniss responds, after thinking for moment. “Which one is crack fairy?”

“Don’t ask me, they all have weird names. Why would you give breadcrumbs to a newborn baby?”

Katniss shrugs. “What about you?”

“Pas de trois, obviously. Big Swan, Spanish Princess, _Seven Sonatas_ , Myrtha, of course, Spring Fairy, and,” Johanna pauses, “Cinderella.”

Katniss looks at her, wide-eyed. “That’s a principal role.”

Johanna shrugs, but Katniss can tell she’s pleased at her reaction. “You get to dance one here or there. But yeah, it’s pretty cool.”

Katniss hits her in the arm. “I think it’s more than pretty cool.”

“I’m just glad I wasn’t cast in _Raymonda_ ,” Johanna says as they enter the studio. “It’s worse than _Sylphides_.”

Katniss is about to reply, but is distracted by the fact that there are significantly fewer people at the barres than there were yesterday. Knitting her brows together, she turns to Johanna. “There is class today, right?”

“It’s the culling. If you want to move to a spot in front of a skinny mirror, now’s the time to grab it.” Johanna starts walking in between the mirrors, comparing and contrasting.

“The what?”

“Oh, I guess you wouldn’t have signed a new contract, you’re off-schedule. Yesterday was signing day, except for those unlucky souls who got cut. Once you make soloist you’re usually safe, but those poor bastards in the corps who didn’t impress our AD this year are out on the streets.”

Katniss feels numb. Snow’s threat suddenly seems even more real than it did yesterday. Katniss casts around for something to say, to stop herself from panicking. “What about the season? Won’t it be hard without a full corps de ballet?”

Johanna stops in front of a mirror that seems to please her, and plops herself down. Katniss takes the spot behind her.

“All the academies are graduating soon, Snow sends out scouts to bring back the best and the brightest. We’ll have a corps by the time the season starts. They get thrown right into it, it’s good for them. Plus, it’s a pretty effective way to weed out the useless ones who can’t pick up choreography quickly.”

“Oh,” Katniss says. “I guess I’ll meet them, then.”

Johanna looks at Katniss quizzically.

“I’m um, touring the district academies. Me and Peeta. Peeta and I, I mean. We’re, um, guest performing in the end of year productions,” Katniss says in a rush.

Johanna blinks at Katniss and raises her eyebrows. “Well, excuse me, I didn’t realize I was dealing with internationally renowned superstar Katniss Everdeen, who tours the academies she didn’t even bother to graduate from. I guess I wasn't good enough to go on tour when I won the Prix.” The sarcasm is almost too much, even for Johanna.

“It wasn’t my idea,” Katniss mutters as she pulls out her leg warmers.

“No shit,” Johanna says. “So what are you performing? Gonna bang out a _Don Q_?”

Katniss shrugs. “I find out today. _Firebird_ , probably.”

Johanna scrunches her face up in thought. “They’ll probably have you do something a little more traditional, you know, adagio, variation, variation, allegro.”

“Great. More choreography to learn,” Katniss sighs.

“Hey, you wanted into the company,” Johanna says, stretching out onto her back. Katniss doesn’t respond, just rolls herself into a straddle, her torso flat on the floor.

* * *

Katniss follows one of the pianists into Studio 4, and finds Peeta talking with Finnick inside. She waves a hello as she drops her dance bag off by the mirrors.

“What are you doing here?” Katniss asks Finnick as she walks over to them. She’d gotten a warm welcome from him her first day in class, but hasn’t really talked to him since. Finnick takes her by the upper arms and gives her a quick kiss on both cheeks, surprising Katniss.

“I was just telling Peeta,” Finnick responds. Katniss looks over and meets Peeta’s eyes for the first time since she entered the room, for the first time since she walked away from him yesterday. He gives her a small, tight smile. Katniss feels a little relieved. It’s not much, but it’s something. She returns the smile with her own, and then looks back to Finnick.

“I’m teaching you two _Diana and Actaeon_.”

“The pas you did in the Prix gala?” Peeta asks.

Finnick nods. “Since it’s fresh in my mind, or something. Personal request from our Artistic Director,” he says with a hint of mockery. Katniss raises her eyebrows. “Not that I mind, of course,” Finnick assures her. “Today’s an off day for me.”

Katniss sits to retape one of her toes and asks, “So who’s teaching me my variation? I’m assuming you don’t know Diana.”

“No, definitely not,” Finnick says. “We’re just waiting on Mags.”

Katniss freezes. “Mags?”

“Mags. My coach, Mags.”

“Your coach is Mags Plisetskaya?” Katniss asks incredulously. She’d known Mags was involved with the company, but Katniss hadn’t realized she was Finnick’s personal coach.

Finnick shrugs, but he’s grinning. “I’ve known her since I was a kid. I don’t know why everyone makes such a big deal over her.”

Katniss gapes at him. Mags is an absolute legend, the prima ballerina of her time, famously defecting from her native Russia to join CBC. “She’s going to teach me Diana?”

“If she ever shows up,” Finnick says, looking around. “There she is.” Katniss looks over to see a spry elderly woman with white hair pushing open the studio door.

“Finnick, you look terrible,” she says, or at least, Katniss thinks she says. Mags’ Russian accent is so thick Katniss can barely understand her.

Katniss pushes herself to her feet as Mags greets Finnick the same way he greeted Katniss, kisses on both cheeks. Mags focuses her attention on Peeta, who bows respectfully. She looks him over and says something in Russian to Finnick, who laughs.

“She says you’ll do.”

Mags winks at Peeta, who ducks his head in embarrassment. Katniss curtsies as Mags turns her attention to her. Mags takes Katniss’ arm, pulls on it. Bends down to look at her feet. Gestures for Katniss to get into first position. Has Katniss balance in passé. Katniss endures the interrogation of her body in silence. After a few more minutes of inspection, Mags sniffs at her and walks to the center of the studio.

Katniss hears Finnick exhale, as if he’s relieved, and looks at him curiously. He gives Katniss a look. “She’ll teach you. You better get over there.” Katniss rushes to where Mags is standing in the corner, waiting expectantly.

“Wait!” Finnick rummages in his bag, comes out with a small wooden object. Running over, he thrusts it into Katniss’ hands. “This is Annie’s, so be careful with it.”

“What is it?” Katniss asks, confused.

“It’s your bow. You’re the goddess of the hunt, right?” Finnick smirks a little, and then runs back to where Peeta has sprawled himself out by the mirrors.

Mags spends forever on Katniss’ entrance, which involves running out, balancing in sous-sus, and a temps lié back. Katniss does it over and over again, with Mags correcting tiny things each time, first her feet and then her arms, until finally, Mags nods. Katniss feels a tiny bit of triumph. It’s only eight counts, but she was taught them, approved of by Mags Plisetskaya.

“Emboîté, emboîté, emboîté, emboîté, and one and two and three and step, cabriole, cabriole, piqué en dehors, plié arabesque.”

Katniss quickly loses any sense of achievement she had felt. She picks up the steps easily enough, but Mags is a perfectionist and insists on working through every new bit of choreography until Katniss can do it flawlessly. Katniss reminds herself that she's one of many Mags has taught over the years, that Mags learned this choreography from someone, that steps and arms and interpretations have been passed down, dancer to dancer, all the way from Vaganova herself. It's an inspiring thought, one that makes Katniss redouble her efforts.

Finally, they reach the point where Peeta joins her, and Finnick demonstrates the jump that marks Actaeon’s entrance. “You have to wow them from the start. This jump needs to be huge.”

Katniss’ jaw drops as she watches Finnick jump up close for the first time. There’s a turn, and then his legs shoot past 180, and then another turn, and then somehow, he’s kneeling. She’d seen videos of Finnick before, and seen him perform at the Prix, but to watch it happen just a few feet from her is something else entirely. Finnick dances like it’s his natural movement, like moving like a normal human is the thing he tries to do.

Katniss sees Peeta’s eyes widen as Finnick gestures for him to try. “Um, can I see that one more time?” Peeta asks.

“Just do whatever you’ve got that’s showiest, the choreography here can be whatever you want,” Finnick reassures Peeta. “Even a high grand jeté works.” Peeta looks unsure, but launches into a vague interpretation of Finnick’s jump, nowhere near as polished, but Katniss is pleased to see he lands it perfectly.

“That works for now, let’s move on,” Finnick says, nodding.

Throughout the course of the afternoon, they finish learning the first section. Katniss waits for it to be awkward with Peeta, for blushes and avoided gazes at his arms around her again, but somehow, the moment never comes. Not during the many lifts, not even during the potentially cringe-inducing promenade in développé. Instead, they both focus on the choreography, committing it to memory, down to the amount of tension Katniss has in her arm when pulling it back from fifth.

“We’re going to go from the beginning. Without stopping. Are you ready?” Finnick asks after consulting with Mags.

Katniss nods, walking to the corner for her entrance. Finnick gives a thumbs up to the pianist.

The pas starts with Katniss and Peeta mirroring each other, an acknowledgement in arms, a nod of the head. When they come together, when Katniss steps into an arabesque, bow held out, Peeta grasping the other side to turn her in a promenade, their eyes meet.

It’s like nothing had ever changed between them.

Gone is the impassive look in Peeta’s eyes, the remoteness. Instead, Katniss finds the steady gaze that sustained her during the Prix, the trust that kept her going. She almost laughs in relief, but forces herself to concentrate, to keep herself tense, all the way through her leg, letting Peeta turn her.

Katniss doesn’t break their eye contact as Peeta goes down into a lunge and she leans forward into a penchée, letting her leg come up behind her. It’s only as she sweeps her leg forward into an attitude and lets her back arch into Peeta’s waiting arm does she blink.

But that one moment of connection is enough to give her the courage she needs to jump into their first lift, her arms in fifth, back arched, leg in passé, Peeta holding her tightly by the ribs, directly above his head.

The rest of the pas goes well, the développé lifts, the moments of preparation that Mags had spent more time on than some of the actual dancing.

Before she knows it, they’ve reached the end, Katniss holding her leg behind her in attitude, Peeta’s arm wrapped around her waist, both of them looking to their hands, raised high in accomplishment. They stay there after the music ends, looking to Mags and Finnick for approval.

“Is boring,” Mags proclaims. “Mags!” Finnick admonishes her.

Katniss drops out of her attitude, takes a step back from Peeta, who’s breathing hard with exertion. She knows it was only the first time they did the pas in full, but boring?

“That was fine,” Finnick calls over to Katniss and Peeta. “You’re just getting the steps down, you can work on the interpretation later.”

“Is boring,” Mags says again. “Where is passion? You are goddess!” She walks up to Katniss and pushes her toward Peeta. Katniss staggers from the unexpected strength in Mags’ arms, and bumps into Peeta, who quickly grabs onto her to keep her from falling. “Like that,” Mags says, gesturing to them.

Peeta and Katniss exchange a look, then both turn their gazes to the floor, Katniss stepping out of Peeta’s embrace.

“We’ll work on it,” Katniss manages to get out.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Finnick says. “Coda and variations tomorrow?” Peeta nods in response. Katniss curtsies to Mags, who gives Katniss an inscrutable look before leaving the studio.

“I think she likes you,” Finnick says to Katniss.

“She just told me I had no passion,” Katniss says, shaking her head.

“She’s Russian. There’s never enough passion for them,” Finnick laughs. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.” The door closes behind Finnick, and Katniss and Peeta are alone.

Katniss keeps her eyes on the floor, afraid she’ll look up to find the same distant Peeta from before. She walks to the mirror, takes a seat by her bag. Makes a show of removing her shoes. Eventually the silence gets to her, and Katniss reminds herself that today is about action. Steeling herself, she looks up to find Peeta watching her.

Katniss falters. She’d planned her side of their conversation out, but now that she’s here, she finds she can’t begin. Casting about for something to say, she asks, “So what roles did you get?” at the exact same moment that Peeta says, “Katniss.”

Katniss looks at him pleadingly. She needs to delay, even if only for a moment, having this conversation. She needs to prepare herself. She must look desperate, because Peeta sighs and comes over to her, taking a seat a few feet away.

“Well, you know almost everything. Peasant pas, Bluebird . . . we can't seem to get away from birds.”

“Excuse you, you're the bird. I'm a princess,” Katniss scoffs.

Peeta laughs a little, and Katniss sees him relax. “Well, for what we aren't dancing together, English Prince, and the Neapolitan dance.”

“You're one of the Rose Adagio suitors?” Katniss asks, impressed.

Peeta shrugs. “I just have to partner whoever’s dancing Aurora, it's not like I'm the one holding however many balances she does.”

“Eight,” Katniss says quickly.

“Right. And I'm just supporting her for two of them.”

“But still, two, that's important. It’s the hardest thing in ballet, and you're an integral . . .” Katniss trails off as she sees the expression on Peeta’s face. It's serious, resolute.

“Katniss.”

“I know. Peeta—”

“I'm sorry.”

Katniss stops, taken aback, her plan derailed.

“I shouldn't have treated you the way I have been. I shouldn't have shut you out. I know you were just trying to save us, our careers. And it's not like I haven't sprung anything without asking you before.”

“That was different though, that was for the sponsors,” Katniss protests weakly. Peeta hadn't asked her before telling the world they were together, but it had only benefited them in the end. “That helped us, this, what I did, that was different.”

“You helped us too, I can see that now. I mean, look at us. We’re where we always wanted to be.”

“You aren't.”

“No,” Peeta admits, but there's no regret, no malice in his voice. “But, also yes. I mean, I'm a soloist in one of the best companies in the world. People would kill to be where I am. It's an opportunity. I can't waste it. And I can't hold it against you. Especially not if we're going to be dancing together.”

“Well, I'm sorry too. I mean, all you wanted was to go back to the academy. And I took that away from you. Just like before.” Katniss can't keep her voice from shaking with emotion.

Peeta puts a hand up, stopping her. “Katniss. We've both done things we regret. If I could go back, I'd do it all differently. But we can't. So all we can do now is move forward. Together.”

Katniss doesn't know what she feels. Relief, mostly. Still a small amount of guilt, but compared to the last month, Katniss feels like a weight has been lifted.

The feelings she had buried, the ones that she had finally acknowledged after Peeta had admitted his feelings for her are struggling to be let free, but Peeta hasn't broached the subject of their kiss after the Prix, and Katniss resolves not to bring it up. Peeta may not hate her anymore, but Katniss is fairly certain that he definitely doesn't love her, not if he wants to do everything differently, not after what she did.

“So,” Peeta says, “partners?”

“Partners,” Katniss replies solemnly. “And let's promise, the next time we have to make a life changing decision that affects both of us, we talk about it first?”

“I promise,” Peeta says. As he says it, he raises his left arm, with his index and middle fingers pointing toward the sky. The gesture is familiar, but Katniss can't think of where she's seen it before.

“What does that mean?” Katniss asks, mimicking Peeta.

“Oh, it's ballet mime for promise. Finnick’s doing Désiré this season and apparently half of Act 2 is all mime. He was going over it while Mags was working with you, I guess I picked some of it up.”

Katniss raises her eyebrows.

“Here, I'll show you.” Peeta gets to his feet. “Beautiful,” he says, as he draws his hand across his face. “Dance,” moving his hands around each other as he brings them to fifth position. “Promise,” he raises his left arm again, and then leaving his arm where it is, brings his right hand to his heart. “And true love.” His eyes flick away from hers.

“Well, then, I promise too,” Katniss says, lifting her arm to match Peeta. For a moment they stay there, arms raised in tribute to each other, and then the sound of the door opening startles them into resuming normal dancer positions.

“Sorry, we have this studio now, are you done in here?” Kento, one of the ballet masters, asks.

“All done,” Peeta replies.

As they gather their things and leave the studio, Katniss revels in the simple joy that is being in Peeta’s presence without feeling anguish.

“So what do you have for the rest of the day?” Peeta asks as they walk. Katniss shrugs. “Stretching. Sewing ribbons. What else do I do? What about you?”

“Neapolitan rehearsal, since we’ll be gone for when it's normally scheduled. I don't remember the Prix winners performing in our productions before, do you know why we’re going on tour?”

Katniss blanches as she remembers Snow didn't meet with Peeta, that Peeta has no idea that they must impress the districts, that they must bring in an audience. She thinks about telling him, but decides against it. They've only just started speaking again, Katniss reasons. She doesn't want to give him a reason to stop.

“Maybe since we're the first pas to win, they wanted to show us off? It's less exciting if a winner comes in and shows off one variation,” Katniss says. It's a feeble explanation, but Peeta seems to buy it.

“I just realized I’m going to have to wear that costume twelve times,” Peeta says, sounding depressed. Katniss laughs gleefully.

“I totally forgot about that, the audience is going to love us,” Katniss cackles.

“Thanks,” Peeta says sarcastically. “This is me,” he says, coming to a stop outside Studio 7.

Katniss almost feels a loss, leaving Peeta. She knows that they aren't dancing together in every role this season, she has Little Swans, he has Neapolitan, but it's strange to think of learning something without him by her side, especially now that they've reconciled. She wonders if he feels the same way.

“Oh, okay,” she says. “I'll see you tomorrow, I guess?”

Katniss continues down the hallway, but stops and turns when she hears Peeta call her name.

He looks uncertain, like there's something he wants to say to her, but he's afraid of the consequences if he does. Katniss wonders if he regrets forgiving her, if he's about to take it all back. A small part of her wonders if it could be something more. She waits, her heart pounding.

Peeta shakes his head once, as if to clear it. “Nothing. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Katniss nods, and watches Peeta enter the studio. She wonders what he was going to say, but puts it out of her mind. They’re partners again. They've made their promises. That's all she can ask for, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Swan Lake_
> 
> [Spanish Princess](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmZEom6tpu4&t=10m50s)   
>  [Neapolitan Dance](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmZEom6tpu4&t=6m2s)
> 
> _Sleeping Beauty_
> 
> [Canary Fairy (Crack Fairy)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11Z1mURnMSM)   
>  [Miettes qui Tombent Fairy (Breadcrumb Fairy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AnLCiScgTWY)   
>  [The Rose Adagio](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u4aLIeg2Mik)
> 
> _Cinderella_
> 
> [Spring Fairy variation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gnrt94c3JDo)   
>  [Cinderella variation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EhWywbSrviw)
> 
> [ _Seven Sonatas_ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kXpK6ojahGM&t=0m30s)
> 
> [ _Diana and Actaeon_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Py9iuKP_bLA)
> 
> [Ballet mime](http://ballet.isport.com/ballet-guides/mime-meanings-in-ballet)
> 
> Mags' last name comes from the legend, [Maya Plisetskaya](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maya_Plisetskaya).


	3. Chapter 3

“Am I really supposed to have a boob out like this?”

Katniss scrutinizes herself in the mirror as Octavia, the wardrobe mistress, pins a red chiffon dress over Katniss’ leotard. For some reason, the neckline of the dress cuts diagonally across Katniss’ torso, potentially leaving nothing to the imagination.

“They were Greeks, dear. Or was it Romans? Anyway, it’s what they wore. And it’s traditional. You’ll have a nude leotard on underneath, we won’t be exposing you too much.”

“Isn’t that nice for you,” Peeta mutters under his breath.

Katniss gives Peeta a winning smile. His costume fitting had been first, and Katniss had sat back and enjoyed the show. Even now, as he shrugs his shirt back on, Katniss can’t help but stare out of the corner of her eyes.

Katniss had never been so grateful to be out of reach of the Academy’s dress code restrictions as on the first day Peeta had shown up to class in little shorts, and watching him get fitted for his Actaeon costume was even better. “You’re lucky I don’t mind you staring,” Peeta had said as Octavia pinned brown fabric over one of his shoulders. Katniss had never known her cheeks could turn so red.

They’re almost back to the easy give and take they had during the Prix, the implicit trust that made them winners. Still hesitant at times, still tentative, but Katniss knows that when she takes Peeta’s hand, that he will be there to support her, that she will hold herself up for him.

The studio door opens and Finnick enters, followed by Mags and two people very familiar to Katniss.

“Cinna!”

Katniss wants to go to him, to hug him, but Octavia has her afraid to move for fear of sticking herself with a multitude of pins. She settles for an excited wave as Peeta runs over and embraces Portia.

“What are you doing here?” Katniss asks as Cinna kisses her on the cheek, leaning to avoid her torso so she won’t get stabbed.

“These two,” he says, indicating Finnick and Mags, “asked us if we’d come in and coach you after today, once you’ve finished learning the rest of the choreography, since they’ve got other responsibilities. We’re on the scouting team for the academies anyway, so of course we said yes.”

Katniss disregards any thoughts she had for her personal safety, and reaches out and hugs Cinna in gratitude, ignoring any pain caused by errant pins. “Thank you,” she whispers. Katniss had never dreamed she’d have Cinna as her coach again, and she immediately feels more confident about her mission in the districts.

“Peeta, since you’re ready, I’ll start teaching you your sections of the coda,” Finnick says as he sets his things down. “It’s not much, just lots of jumps.”

“Great,” says Peeta. Katniss thinks she’s the only one who noticed the sarcasm in Peeta’s voice.

Octavia finishes pinning Katniss in and lifts the dress over her head. “I’ll come back for your next rehearsal to check the fit,” she says, and lays the dress carefully in a bag. Katniss thanks Octavia, and then walks over to where Mags is sketching out arm positions on the other side of the studio.

“Sorry, Madame,” Katniss apologizes, and moves to stand just behind Mags. Cinna stands in front of them, watching carefully.

“We begin,” Mags says.

Marking through a sequence of grand jetés, “Arms here,” Mags demonstrates, “and here,” lifting them to fifth and opening as she crosses the floor. “Piqué, piqué, one more, plié, relevé arabesque, yes?” Katniss goes across the diagonal, following Mags’ instructions.

“Jeté entrelacé, preparation, Italian fouetté.”

Katniss looks over to where Peeta is doing barrel turns, and wonders if they can pull this off. This is bravura dancing, choreographed to impress. Katniss tells herself that the districts will have no choice but to be awed by them, grits her teeth and launches herself into a tour jeté.

After they finish learning the coda, which involves more turns, more lifts, and one last huge jump for Peeta, Katniss is left with Mags and Cinna to learn her variation.

Instead of calling out steps as she had been, Mags demonstrates Diana’s variation to Katniss, dancing through it herself. Watching her, watching the years of technique that haven’t been dulled in the least by age, Katniss almost forgets that she’s supposed to be learning. Even Cinna can’t take his eyes off her.

“And pirouette,” Mags says, causing Katniss to start and refocus. She gestures for Katniss to demonstrate, and Katniss pushes off with her right foot into her opening jump.

By the time Mags finishes teaching her, Katniss’ foot is aching from so many hops en pointe and her head is swimming from learning so much choreography so quickly. She’s utterly exhausted. But she’s content. For the first time since she joined the company, Katniss remembers what it’s like to learn something new, to take pride in performing it. To trust her body, her mind, to perform the steps, to give those steps meaning.

“Thank you, Mags,” Cinna says, bowing his head to her as she pronounces them done. Katniss curtsies, and stays down, eyes lowered in respect as Mags walks up to her. Mags lifts Katniss’ chin, bestowing on her a rare smile.

“Remember,” Mags says, “you are goddess. Now show it.”

* * *

The next morning, Johanna is pulling everything out of her bag when Katniss arrives for class. “Can I borrow your lighter?” she asks, looking annoyed, surrounded by leg warmers and elastic and rolls of medical tape. “I can’t find mine anywhere.” Katniss pulls her lighter from her bag and hands it to Johanna, raising her eyebrows.

“This ribbon won’t stop fraying,” Johanna grits out, melting the end of the ribbon in question. Katniss nudges one of the piles closer to Johanna with her foot, and takes a seat.

“I’m not going to be able to get past pliés if you don’t move this stuff,” Katniss says.

“Yeah yeah, give me a sec,” Johanna says, distracted. “I think I lost your lighter.” K

atniss rolls her eyes.“I’m going to check the schedule, I keep forgetting where the pas de trois rehearsal is today.”

When she gets back to the barre, Katniss finds Johanna sorting through the piles, but making no effort to return her things to her bag. “I was wondering where this leg warmer went, I had missed it.” Johanna says, pulling it on. As Katniss begins to stretch, Johanna keeps sorting through her belongings.

“Oh, look, this was from my late night rehearsals with Arron.” Johanna throws something at Katniss. “You’ll probably have more use for that than me these days.”

Katniss looks down to see a small foil-wrapped packet at her feet. “Jo!” Katniss hisses, turning red, grabbing the condom and shoving it deep into her bag.

“What?” Johanna asks innocently. “I thought you and blondie were back on speaking terms?”

“That’s . . . not . . .” Katniss splutters. Looking around for something to change the subject, Katniss sees an ACE bandage and an icepack that have migrated all the way over and are leaning on her bag. “Will you take these please?”

Johanna sees what Katniss is holding out to her, and her face becomes deathly serious. “Give those to me, right now,” Johanna says in a low voice, her eyes darting around to see if anyone’s watching them. Katniss hands Johanna the items, confused at Johanna’s sudden change in demeanor, watching as Johanna hides them quickly in the cavernous depths of her dance bag.

“What’s wrong?” Katniss asks quietly.

“Hmm?” Johanna responds, her voice normal again, but Katniss can tell there’s something forced about it. “So where’s rehearsal again?”

“Studio 5,” Katniss replies, slowly.

“Great. I’m still super mad about having to do this around your schedule by the way, next time you win the Hunger Games, do your tour when it’s convenient for me, thanks.” Johanna is staring at Katniss meaningfully, and Katniss infers she’s supposed to act like Johanna didn’t just completely overreact over an icepack.

“You got it,” Katniss says as Plutarch enters the studio, and what’s left of the company begins to stand for barre.

Only once they’re alone in Studio 5, and Johanna has made sure both studio doors are closed, does she explain. “That was a threat. As in, you’ll be needing these soon. You know how superstitious dancers are. This isn't good.”

“That can’t be it,” Katniss says. “That sounds like the plot to a bad novel.”

“Why don’t you ask Sterling? Oh wait, you can’t, he’s not in the company anymore, because the day after someone left an icepack in his dressing room, he got pushed down the stairs and tore his ACL and now I think he teaches classes at some dinky studio in Ten.”

“Oh,” Katniss says, dumbfounded. “But why me?”

Johanna gives Katniss a look. “Seriously? You’re where literally everyone in the corps wants to be, and you skipped the grunt work, which means the higher ranks aren’t your biggest fans either. You didn’t have to do every single _Swan Lake_ , sticking around until Act 4 every night so you could do swan arms while Cashmere threw herself off a cliff. Actually, you know what, I hate you a little too.”

Katniss feels a little trickle of fear. “So what do I do?”

Johanna shrugs. “Watch your back. I didn’t see who did it, so basically don’t be alone with anyone in the company, ever. Except maybe this one,” she says, nodding at Peeta as he pushes open the studio door.

“Maybe this one what?” he asks as he approaches them.

“You’re the only company member who’s not trying to kill me, apparently,” Katniss explains.

“I might if we screw up one of our lifts, I could throw you into the orchestra pit by accident,” Peeta laughs, and then stops when he sees she’s serious. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” Katniss says.

He frowns, but Plutarch enters the studio just as Peeta starts to ask Katniss what nothing means. Katniss exhales in relief. She doesn’t want to remind Peeta of the fabled cutthroat nature of CBC, not when they're about to learn their first major role of the season.

“I have to go meet with a sponsor after this, so let’s see if we can get through the first and last sections today. Johanna, you’re first variation.”

“The fuck I am? That’s the new girl’s part, Katniss is first girl.”

“Our AD would prefer if you danced the first variation,” Plutarch says patiently.

Katniss jumps as Johanna throws her water bottle at the mirror. “So I get the shitty jumping pass because the audience wants to see him turn her a few times? This is bullshit, Plutarch.” Johanna storms out of the studio, leaving Katniss and Peeta staring awkwardly at each other.

Plutarch sighs. “Well, at least we got it out of the way early.” Katniss looks at him questioningly. “Johanna does this at least once a season. She gets away with it because she’s talented. It’s also the reason she’ll never be promoted to principal. She’ll be back. Are you two ready?” Katniss nods, feeling slightly guilty.

Plutarch’s no-nonsense teaching style seems to extend to rehearsal as well, and they make their way through the choreography quickly. It’s easy to pick up, quick jumps and lots of repetition, and true to Johanna’s outburst, there’s a large section where Katniss and Peeta are alone onstage, where all they do is turn and jump and smile pleasantly at each other.

Johanna returns an hour into the rehearsal, saying nothing, only walking to her place next to Peeta and allowing him to lift her. She doesn’t make eye contact with Katniss once, but when Katniss approaches her after Plutarch has left, apologizing, she’s back to her normal, spiky self.

“You’re not sorry,” Johanna says. “Or maybe you actually are. Honestly, I like the first variation better. But you have to fight for what you can get here, and I lost this one. Enjoy your stage time.”

She walks away, leaving Katniss feeling unsettled.

* * *

As Katniss steps out of the car that brought them from the train station, she’s struck by how small everything in Twelve is. She hadn’t realized it growing up, but after her time in the Capitol, performing at the opera house, the theater she’s spent her life performing in is cramped and rundown.

“Katniss! Peeta!” Madame Trinket calls to them from where she’s standing in the theater lobby, talking to one of the other teachers. Katniss is surprised to realize she’s actually happy to see Madame. The woman is a little ridiculous, but she was there for them during the Prix. She runs up to them as they walk over, and embraces them both.

“It’s wonderful to have you back,” she breathes, “and we’re so excited to have you perform. It’s almost like you’re still students!" Peeta and Katniss exchange an amused glance.

“It’s good to see you, Madame,” Peeta says, bowing to her. Katniss drops a respectful curtsy.

“Let me show you to your dressing room,” Madame says, touched by their reverence. “You’ll have to share, unfortunately, it’s not like the opera house where they have rooms to spare. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not,” Peeta reassures her. Katniss isn’t so sure, but she follows Madame anyway.

Madame chatters away as she leads them backstage, telling them about what’s happened at the Academy since the Prix, and about the production itself. “We’ve left the stage free for you now, if you’d like to run through your piece,” she says as they reach the dressing room. “I must run, darlings, but merde, if I don’t see you before the show.” She air kisses them both, and then she’s gone.

“Do you want to run it?” Peeta asks as he sets his bag down.

“Yeah, remember the stage here is really narrow? We should check our spacing,” Katniss says, and then thinks for a moment. “Costumes?”

Peeta shakes his head. “I think I’ll save that for tonight, thanks. Don’t want to give away the surprise if anyone’s in the theater.”

Katniss laughs. “Well, I’m going to put on my dress, for lifts.”

Peeta’s onstage warming up when Katniss arrives in her dress, sitting down to pull on her shoes and warm ups. After she’s stretched, and they’ve done a few practice turns, Peeta calls into the audience, “Are we good to go?”

Katniss squints into the stage lights as she hears Portia calling back. “Just tell us when you’re ready!”

They disappear into the wings, and Katniss sticks her hand out, giving a thumbs up. The music starts, and she runs out. Before she knows it, she’s holding her final arabesque and running offstage, Peeta a few seconds behind her. He’s breathing hard, but Katniss feels good about what they just did.

Katniss hears clapping coming from the audience as she and Peeta walk back onstage to see if Cinna and Portia have any notes. It sounds, somehow, sarcastic.

“Hello, Mr. A,” Katniss calls from the stage.

She hears him before she sees him. “Well, well, if it isn’t CBC’s brand new soloists, come to bestow their glory on our meager production.” And then there he is, leaning against the orchestra pit. “Why don’t you both come on down here.”

Katniss finds Mr. A standing in the middle of the house when she and Peeta emerge from backstage. She drops a quick curtsy as Peeta bows. “That’s enough of that, I’m not your teacher anymore,” Mr. A growls. Katniss raises her eyebrows.

Mr. A gestures to the row in front of him. “Sit. Tell me how things are going.” Katniss takes a careful seat, making sure to not crumple her dress, as Peeta tells Mr. A their roles for the upcoming season.

Mr. A whistles. “Snow really threw you right into it. Bluebird and peasant pas in your first season?”

Katniss laughs. “He told I had bad épaulement, and then he cast us in _Vertiginous Thrill_. We just learned the first section and it’s literally all big arms and switching from croisé to effacé. I don’t know what he expects from me.”

“When did Snow say you had bad épaulement? I haven’t even seen him since the Prix,” Peeta asks curiously.

“Oh.” Katniss freezes. She turns to Peeta, a look of trepidation on her face. She had forgotten this was something she’d kept from him.

“It was the day of my casting meeting, I went in to meet Plutarch and Snow was there instead,” Katniss says quickly.

Peeta glances at her, confused. “I saw you that day, why didn’t you say anything?” Katniss gives him a look.

Mr. A puts up a hand, stopping her from saying anything to Peeta. “Tell me exactly what happened in this meeting of yours.”

His voice is serious, which startles Katniss enough that she immediately tells him everything Snow said. About how they must bring in an audience, bring in new sponsors. About the reason they’re on tour. She can feel Peeta tensing next to her as she goes on. “He said if we don’t, he wouldn’t renew our contracts.”

Peeta stands up and walks away in frustration. When he comes back, he’s clenching his jaw. “I thought we were telling each other things, Katniss. You didn’t think this was something I should have known?”

Katniss can’t meet his eyes. “I . . .” she starts to say, but Peeta cuts her off.

“And why would we be the ones to bring in a new audience, we aren’t that special? I’m sorry, but we’re not. We’re first-year soloists, who cares about us?”

Katniss looks at the ground. “Snow says they’re interested in us, because of um, our love story.” She feels Peeta freeze next to her. She gathers her courage and looks up at him. “You know, the whole ‘I’ve loved her for years, we’re so excited we get to dance for you together’ thing.” Peeta looks stricken.

“I didn’t know,” he says, his voice strangled.

“Well, you do now,” Mr. A says, looking at both of them seriously. “Look, I don’t know much about audiences, but it sounds like Snow wins either way. Either you bring in a bigger audience, which brings him money, and more prestige for the company. Or you don’t, in which case, he fires you. Probably publicly.” Katniss blanches.

“All I know is the company, and well, you know by now it’s not the friendliest place to be. So don’t look for support from your fellow company members, is all I’m saying. They’d love it if you lost, if you fell on your faces,” Mr. A continues.

“So how do we win?” Peeta asks. Katniss is reminded of when he asked Mr. A the same exact question, back during the Prix.

Mr. A snorts. “You don’t. But this time you really don’t, this isn’t a competition anymore. This is your life. This is your career. You two are soloists now. You didn't put in your time in the corps, so they'll be waiting for you to screw up, they'll have a reason for when you fail. Don't let that happen. And maybe then, you’ll survive the season."

* * *

Katniss spends the rest of the afternoon with Prim, whose injury precludes her from performing, and Gale, who seems distant, worried about the performance. She knows that scouts from companies all over the country are here, and contracts will be offered to those who impress at the end of the evening.

She stops by the Grade 6 girl's dressing room as they're getting dressed, immediately being swarmed by her former classmates, only returning to her dressing room once she needs to get ready, giving Peeta a chance to be alone, away from her.

Peeta isn’t there when she arrives, however, so Katniss settles into her chair to apply her makeup. When she hears the door open behind her, she looks in the mirror to see Peeta, an apologetic look on his face.

“Katniss.”

This time she cuts him off, turning to face him in her chair, speaking before he has a chance to say anything. “I’m sorry.”

Peeta raises his eyebrows.

“I should have told you about my meeting with Snow. We’re partners. We’re in this together. I just, I didn’t want to you be angry, we’d just started . . .” Katniss lets out a sigh, not knowing what to say. Not knowing how to make him understand why she’d kept him in the dark. “I’m sorry.”

Peeta walks over to her, crouching down in front of her chair, taking her hand. “I know. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that.” Katniss twists her mouth, ready to say that she deserved it, but Peeta keeps going.

“We’re in this together, like you said. But we have to be coming from the same place. If you hadn’t told me, I would have just gone on like we have been. But now, we have to,” he pauses, “convince the audiences that our partnership is . . . something more.”

Katniss flushes all over.

“And you know, we’re good at that,” Peeta says, looking down at the floor, then looking up again, meeting Katniss’ eyes. Katniss nods.

“So, let’s go out there and make them love us,” Katniss says, her mouth dry.

When the call comes, they make their way to the stage, passing some of their former classmates, who are running down the halls to their dressing rooms from where they’ve just performed, changing for the grand défilé. Katniss receives cheek kisses, Peeta endures slaps on the back, and then they’re backstage.

“So, are you ready to dance like we’re in love again?” Katniss asks jokingly, trying to make light of the situation they find themselves in.

Peeta looks at her sideways, a considering, thoughtful look on his face. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Are you?”

The way Peeta’s looking at her has Katniss feeling like she can’t breathe. She manages to nod in response as their music starts, only breaking eye contact at the last possible second.

Katniss runs out, prepares. Standing alone onstage.

She looks to her left and sees Peeta, waiting in the wings, and reminds herself that it’s not just her. She has a partner. She’s not alone. As Peeta jumps onto the stage, she balances, poised in sous-sus. She lifts her arm, acknowledging him, honoring him. They make their way center stage, and then they are together.

Peeta jumps. She turns. They weave in and out of each other’s paths across the stage, coming together, moving apart. Peeta lifts her, Katniss beating her legs together for each grand jeté. She does lame duck after lame duck, then partnered turns, letting Peeta turn her faster than she could ever turn herself. Letting him sweep her into his arms. Trying to find the passion Mags demanded. Feeling a thrill each time they succeed.

When they finish, when Katniss runs into the wings, Peeta jumping behind her, they don’t have to wait for the audience’s reaction. They’re already applauding before the pas even ends, a few people even standing. Katniss doesn’t know if it’s because they’re from Twelve, or if their dancing was just that impressive, but as Peeta escorts her out, Katniss acknowledges the audience gratefully, walking with her hand over her heart.

They make their way offstage after a quick bow and curtsy, ducking out of the way of the students crowding into the wings for the grand défilé.

"I think that went well," Peeta pants.

"Definitely in love," Katniss says. "The audience, that is. With us."

* * *

To Katniss’ surprise, there’s a steady stream of well-wishers that stop by their dressing room as they prepare to leave for Eleven. Madge, Delly, Peeta’s old partner, younger students begging for an autograph on their programs or a pair of Katniss’ signed pointe shoes. Katniss tells them to come see her when she performs in the Capitol.

Katniss spends five minutes with her mother, who tells her she’s proud of her. Katniss doesn’t ask Peeta if his family came.

“I’m going to head out to the cars,” Peeta says, shouldering his bag once they’ve stopped receiving visitors. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll be there in a second, I just want to say goodbye to Prim,” Katniss says as she finishes zipping up the dress bag holding her costume. Peeta nods, closing the door behind him.

Katniss is gathering up the last of her makeup when the door to the dressing room bursts open and Gale rushes in, looking around wildly.

When he sees Katniss, he runs up to her, grabbing her up in a hug. “I got it,” he says excitedly, “I got a contract!”

“Gale, that’s great!’ Katniss cries, squeezing him tightly. “What company?”

Gale releases her, holding her by the upper arms, a wide grin on his face. “CBC. I got a contract for Capitol Ballet! We’re going to get to dance together again!”

“Oh,” Katniss says.

“Aren’t you excited?” Gale asks eagerly. Katniss doesn’t know what to think.

She hadn’t even considered that Gale would be joining CBC. Not that he doesn’t have the talent, because he does, but she’d separated her life in the Capitol from her Academy days so completely after the Prix, leaving it all behind, that the thought of Gale in the company feels like an intrusion somehow. Not to mention, considering what she knows of the company, she’d be hard pressed to be happy for anyone who willingly joined, without knowing what they were getting into.

Gale notices her fading smile, and a look of concern replaces his grin. Katniss shakes her head. This isn’t about her. Gale got in, on his own merit. This is what he wants. She should be happy for him.

“That’s amazing, Gale,” Katniss says brightly, smiling again. “I knew you could do it.”

“It’ll be just like old times,” Gale says, “you and me, together again.” He smiles fondly at her.

“Um, yeah, we’ll have class together for sure.” Katniss doesn’t know how to tell Gale that that the most they’ll have to do together is that he’ll be standing in the background while she dances with Peeta. She decides that’s something he can learn for himself. “But really, Gale, congratulations. I know this is what you wanted.”

“It’s what we wanted, Catnip!” Katniss flinches. He sees her face, and frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Hey, um, can you not call me that, once we’re in the Capitol?” she asks him, twisting her mouth. “It’s just, you know, I’m a soloist, and I’m the youngest one there, and I need them to take me seriously, and . . .” She trails off at the look on his face. He looks wounded, like asking him to stop using her childhood nickname is a mortal offense.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize being a soloist meant you had to give up everything from your past,” Gale says, sounding hurt.

“Gale, that’s not what I meant,” Katniss says, grabbing his arm as he pulls away from her.

“I’ll see you in the Capitol,” he says brusquely, yanking his arm away. “If you can stand to have me in your sight once you’re back from your tour.” Before Katniss can say anything to stop him, he’s gone.

“Well, that’s just great,” Katniss says aloud.

“What’s great?” Cinna asks, pushing open the dressing room door. “We need to get going, or the train’s going to leave without us. Was that your cousin I saw leaving? We gave him a contract, you should be happy to hear.”

"He's not my cousin," Katniss says, picking up her bag and walking out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Jeté entrelacé/tour jeté (technically incorrect, still gonna call it that)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywkuaIPsVBA), [croisé vs. effacé](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vxUs3ky8EDc), [épaulement](http://www.dancespirit.com/how-to/ballet/the_importance_of_epaulement/).
> 
> [_Diana and Actaeon_ coda](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s_r7rudlpZk&t=7m59s)
> 
> [Diana variation](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s_r7rudlpZk&t=5m59s)
> 
> [Swan arms](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lcxy2E4wgb0&t=7m25s)
> 
> [_Swan Lake_ pas de trois section where they smile pleasantly](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9HlUPVTT9jA&t=0m0s)
> 
> [Grand Défilé](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWxu6h6r-HY)


	4. Chapter 4

Katniss wakes up screaming.

The cramp is deep in her calf, and in the haze of interrupted sleep, she can’t remember what she needs to do, flex her foot or point it. The only thing Katniss does know is that she can’t remember the last time she felt pain of this magnitude.

She’s clutching at her leg, trying desperately to straighten it, when she hears the door open, and someone saying her name, before they’re sitting at the foot of her bed, strong hands wrapping themselves around her calf, massaging the knot until the pain dissipates.

Katniss meets Peeta’s eyes with a look of gratitude.

“I thought someone was trying to murder you,” he says, relieved.

Katniss shakes her head, awake now, laying back and exhaling loudly. “I haven’t had a cramp like that in years, serves me right for not cooling down.” She flexes her foot. “Thanks for coming to the rescue, you know, from my fake murderer.”

Peeta raises his eyebrows in response.

Katniss winces. Now that the cramp has dissipated, she can feel the bruise in the muscle that, from past experience, she knows will last for days.

“You okay?” Peeta asks, frowning a little.

Katniss shakes her head. “I’m going to feel this one for a while, I think.”

“Potassium,” Peeta says knowledgeably.

“Yeah, yeah, you and your bananas,” Katniss sighs, and then realizes where she is. In her bed, technically, with Peeta, his hands still resting on her calf. She tenses, involuntarily, and sits back up, pulling her leg from Peeta’s grasp.

“I can’t believe I woke you up, you can leave,” Katniss says, too loud. “I mean, you don’t have to leave, you can stay, I mean . . .”

Peeta looks at her from under his hair, which is tousled from sleep.

“Just, you can go back to bed, I’m fine now,” she finally says, extending her leg out in front of her as if to prove her point. “But thank you.”

Peeta nods, but doesn’t make any move to get up. They sit in silence for a few moments, Katniss watching Peeta. He has a look on his face like he’s uncertain about something. After a while he seems to make up his mind, and says, “You looked kind of pissed when you left the theater, is everything okay?”

Katniss lays back again, letting out a huff of exasperation, remembering Gale storming away, Cinna’s assumption. She’s about to say that everything’s fine, not wanting to involve Peeta in her drama, when she remembers they’re supposed to be telling each other things.

“Gale got a contract with CBC.”

“Oh,” Peeta says. He’s silent for a moment, and then he continues, his voice guarded. “And you’re upset about that?”

Katniss stares at the ceiling. She’s not even sure what she feels.

“No,” she says eventually. “He just got angry with me for something stupid I said.”

Katniss pauses, unsure if Peeta cares, but she keeps going. “But, it’s just, when we signed, that was it. I was done. With Twelve. I was moving on. I had to, to just make it through the first day. But it’s like now, everything’s getting tangled up.” Katniss sighs, sure that she’s making no sense, not sure why she’s explaining her side of things to Peeta.

“I know,” Peeta says. “I didn’t know who I was when I was there.”

Katniss tilts her head on the bed so she can see Peeta again. She had been wallowing in self-recrimination, feeling terrible for feeling terrible. She keeps forgetting that she’s not alone.

“You too?” she asks, letting out a sarcastic laugh at the ridiculousness of their situation. They’ve just performed as guest artists, the luminous beings descending from the glory of the Capitol and the company, in the very production Katniss had been worried about being cast in a group number in only months ago.

Peeta shakes his head. “It was just weird, I felt like I needed to grab a spare costume and join in during the défilé. And then I remembered I’m not one of them anymore. But at the same time, I don’t feel like I belong at the company—I’m not complaining,” he says quickly, seeing the guilt cross Katniss’ face.

“But maybe your way is the way to do it. Just leave it all behind.” Peeta looks down, and Katniss can tell he’s thinking about his family.

“Or not,” Katniss says. “I tried that, and look where it got me. None of the corps girls talk to me, honestly, the only people I interact with are you and Jo. My best friend’s mad at me, and I still don’t know where I fit in.”

Peeta shrugs. “Welcome to the club.”

“You and me,” Katniss retorts. “Some club.”

“Hey, every single member is a Grand Prix winner. Not too shabby,” Peeta says, grinning a little.

Katniss can’t help but laugh. “Everyone will want to join.” She smiles at Peeta, somehow feeling lighter, watching as he pushes himself off the bed.

“I’ll, uh, let you get back to sleep. Let me know if that murderer shows up.” Katniss almost wants to protest, wants to ask him to stay, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t have that right, not yet.

“Peeta.” Katniss stops him just as he reaches the door, watching as he turns back to face her. “Thanks. You know, for,” she gestures at her leg, at herself. “For everything.”

“Anytime,” Peeta says.

* * *

Walking into the theater in Eleven, Katniss and Peeta find Thresh onstage rehearsing Basilio while staff and teachers watch from the house. They’re the only ones to applaud when he finishes, and Thresh looks out in confusion, then recognition when he sees them standing in the aisle.

“You just missed Rue,” he pants, swigging water from a bottle once he’s run down to meet them.

“That looked familiar,” Peeta says.

“We missed casting for the production while we were competing, so I get to do this again. Just when I thought I was done . . .”

“Thresh, we need to talk about your turns,” someone calls to him, and Thresh rolls his eyes. “I’ll catch up with you later, do you know where the dressing rooms are?” Peeta shakes his head. “I’ll tell them. Stay here.”

True to Thresh’s word, someone immediately comes over and shows them to their dressing room, which they’re sharing, again. After assurances that they’re used to it, that they’ll be fine, they’re left alone.

Katniss pulls on her shoes and tests her leg, easing up en pointe and feeling the ache she feared. She thinks back to the items that were left on her bag and wishes that Johanna hadn’t taken them from her. She could use both of them right now.

“You don’t have something I could wrap this with, do you?”

Peeta laughs, an inside joke kind of laugh that Katniss doesn’t understand. “I have about a million ACE bandages, how many do you want?” Katniss frowns at him, confused.

“People keep leaving them on my bag. Brutus actually walked up and handed one to me, I can only guess they heard about my knee and they’re concerned?”

Katniss can’t help but laugh too, and this time it’s Peeta’s turn to look confused. “You too? Apparently it’s a threat, according to Jo. As in, you’re going to need this soon.”

“Seriously? That’s insane,” Peeta says, finally catching on.

“That’s what I said!” Katniss cries. “Johanna was acting like it was a death sentence. Although,” she gestures toward her leg, “I guess maybe the threat is real.”

Peeta roots around in his bag, tossing one of the ACE bandages to Katniss. “Well, here you go. Hopefully it’s not cursed.”

“Why would you say that,” Katniss chides him, as she pulls her tights up over her calf. “Do you want me to wake up screaming with a cramp in my other leg tonight?”

Peeta shrugs.

“Not the cramp part, no. But,” he pauses, “I didn’t mind everything else.”

Katniss feels like she can’t breathe again.

The theater in Eleven is bigger than the one in Twelve, and the size of the Academy even larger. Katniss counts maybe three times the students that Twelve boasts.

They close the show, going last after Rue, who performs her Prix selection to raucous applause. Katniss’ calf aches with every relevé, but she pushes through the pain. If Peeta could win the Prix with his knee, she can make it through this pas de deux.

When it’s over, when they run back out onstage for their curtain call, Katniss is delighted to see Rue approaching her from the wings, a bouquet of purple and yellow and white wildflowers in her arms. She presents the bouquet to Katniss, dropping to one knee, honoring her. The audience eats it up, cheers coming from all corners of the theater.

Katniss pulls Rue up, hugging her fondly, accepting the bouquet and locating the pull flower, handing it to Peeta as she curtsies to him. Peeta takes it, the single yellow flower hanging from his fingertips as he pushes her and Rue forward to bow again.

They pause, all three of them, arms raised, acknowledging the audience, and then they exit into the wings, making way for the rest of the Academy and their final bow.

There’s only a single visitor to their dressing room after the production is over, Katniss opening the door to Thresh’s knock. She can tell immediately by the look on his face that he has news. When he tells them he’ll see them in the Capitol, Peeta leaps up, pounding Thresh on the back in congratulations.

“I knew it,” Peeta says, grinning. Katniss stands and embraces Thresh, her hug a little more restrained than Peeta’s, but his selection gives her hope. If the students asked to join CBC from the districts are like Thresh, like Gale, then maybe the company won’t be such a bad place to be after all.

No one else comes, though, and Katniss frowns as they exit their dressing room. They were almost late getting to the train in Twelve due to the number of people who wouldn’t stop coming to see them. Are they not as beloved in the districts as Snow had believed? Will their tour fail? Even Peeta is looking around, disheartened by the lack of interest Eleven is showing in them.

“Maybe we aren’t that big of a draw after all,” Katniss says, pushing open the stage door, and then stops.

The sheer number of people standing behind the line of barriers, waiting for them, is beyond Katniss’ comprehension. She’s never seen anything like this. “You were saying?” Peeta says to her, laughing, reaching to where a small girl is holding out a program, a hopeful look on her face. “What’s your name?” he asks, and the girl’s face brightens.

“Are they all here for us?” Katniss whispers to Peeta as he signs the girl’s program and hands it to Katniss for her signature.

“Looks like it,” Peeta says out of the side of his mouth, and starts moving down the line.

Katniss scrawls her name on the program, handing it back to the girl, who’s staring at Katniss with awe. The girl’s mother prods her. “Say thank you, Alina.”

“Thank you,” the girl, Alina, breathes.

“Did you see the show?” Katniss asks, feeling strangely tender toward this girl who can’t take her eyes off her. Alina nods silently.

“She doesn’t audition for the Academy for a few years,” Alina’s mother confesses quietly to Katniss. “But she’s watched the video of you and your partner winning the Prix every day. You’ve really inspired her.”

“Thank you,” Katniss says, seeing that Peeta has already progressed quite a ways down the line of people waiting to see them. She’s about to move on, when she sees an opportunity. “Come see us when we perform this season, we’d really appreciate your support in the Capitol.”

“If she gets her way we’ll be there every show, if we can get out of Eleven,” the girl’s mother says regretfully. “If only PBT was still touring. We used to get all of the greats out here, but not anymore.”

Katniss doesn’t recognize the acronym, but she nods understandingly at the woman, thanks her, and moves on with one last smile for the girl. The rest of the line progresses in a similar fashion, promises to be just like Katniss when grown up, tales of watching the Prix over and over, comparisons to the great ballerinas of days gone by, questions about her, questions about Peeta. Questions about her and Peeta.

They reach the end of the line, where a car waits, idling at the curb, Cinna holding the door open, ready for them to jump in. “This is so weird, we’ve even got a chauffeur,” Katniss whispers to Peeta, leaning in close as he signs his last program. He laughs, and tilts his head so he can respond to her. “Don’t let Cinna hear you say that.”

She feels, rather than sees, the crowd’s excitement ratchet up another notch, and realizes it’s due to their proximity, the way she’s pressed up against his side.

Katniss realizes there’s another opportunity here, and without stopping to think what the consequences will be, takes it. She nudges Peeta with her shoulder, waiting for him to turn to her. The look on his face is questioning as she leans in, pressing her lips to his.

His eyes are open. Her lips are dry.

Peeta looks startled, but he doesn’t pull away. Katniss lingers for a moment, hearing sighs and what sounds like a few cheers from the crowd. She blinks as she breaks the kiss, putting a bright smile on her face, taking Peeta’s arm and pulling him to the car, waving to the crowd one last time.

Cinna regards them with an appraising look, and shuts the door behind Katniss. Her heart pounding, she turns to look at Peeta, who’s looking out the windshield at the dispersing crowd.

“What was that for, Katniss?” His voice is measured. He’s not looking at her.

Katniss swallows nervously. She knows why she did it, but there are layers to her reasons. “I,” she pauses, “I just, they . . .” She doesn’t know what to say.

“It wasn’t real, though.”

She freezes, breathing shallowly. Does Peeta want it to be real? She allows herself to consider that maybe she was wrong, that he could . . .

“I didn’t think so,” Peeta says, finally turning to look at Katniss. He nods at her. “It was smart. They loved it.” Katniss’ heart sinks a little.

So just the one reason, then. To work the crowd. Woo the districts.

“Yeah,” she says. “I thought so too.” She leans back against the seat as the car speeds them away.

The tour begins to blur together, one day into the next, spacing rehearsal on the stage, a performance, dancers whispering as they walk by. The number of people waiting outside grows with each district. They sign their names onto anything that doesn't move. They kiss. The crowd adores them.

Katniss starts to feel like they’re faking their way through fame, that they don’t deserve the praise heaped upon them by the multitudes that wait for them after every show. She knows it’s not their dancing that’s drawing them in. The only thing that makes her feel better is the reassuring thought that Snow will have to be impressed by the turnout, by what they’ve done in the districts.

Occasionally one of their fellow competitors from the Prix seeks them out, to offer congratulations on their performance, merdes for the upcoming season. Lukida is selected to join the company in Five, Cato in Two.

Annie stops by the dressing room after their performance in Four, telling Katniss that she danced beautifully. Katniss tries to give Annie her bow back, but she pushes it into Katniss’ hands. “Just give it to Finnick when you’re done, I don’t need it now. Tell him I miss him, when you see him.”

Their last show, in One, features the most ostentatious student production Katniss has ever seen. The Grade 8 students put on _Diamonds_ in full, clearly chosen to show off Marvel and Glimmer dancing their roles from the Prix, but neither of them is selected for the company.

Only after their final curtain call, after Katniss removes her headpiece and hangs her dress carefully on the rack, does she sink into the couch in their dressing room, finally allowing herself to relax. She sighs, letting all of the worry and tension from the past twelve days leave her, watching Peeta as he finishes gathering his things. He looks exhausted, she imagines she must look the same. Twelve performances in twelve days, across the entire country. _This tour better have been worth it_ , she thinks to herself.

“Don’t relax just yet, we have one more gauntlet to run,” Peeta says, zipping up his bag.

“Right,” Katniss sighs. She extends her hand to Peeta, who pulls her up. He doesn’t let go of her hand as they stand, looking into each other’s eyes. “One more,” she says.

“One more,” Peeta replies. “We can do this.”

Word of mouth has spread through the districts, culminating in the biggest crowd yet. There’s a loud cheer that goes up as they open the stage door, and Katniss steels herself for one final walk.

They smile, they wave. They sign everything that’s thrust in front of them, programs, posters, pointe shoes, even a custom made doll of Katniss in her Firebird tutu.

When they reach the end of the line, Katniss feels like they’ve done enough, that the people are happy, that they’ll go back to their homes and give their hard earned money to the Capitol Ballet Company, all in the names of Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.

Katniss looks up at Peeta and smiles. “We did it,” she whispers to him, taking his hand. She’s about to duck into the car, when Peeta pulls her back.

Peeta’s the one who leans in this time, his hand coming up, caressing her cheek. Katniss lets herself forget that it’s all for show, that they’re both just doing this to solidify their place in the crowd’s hearts, and closes her eyes as they kiss. When Peeta pulls away, she feels a kind of loss.

Peeta smiles, but there’s something heartbreaking about it, and Katniss can tell that something has changed.

They’re silent the entire car ride to the train station, Katniss feeling drained in more ways than one. She hears Peeta exhaling next to her. Katniss turns her face to him slightly, looking at him out of the corner of her eyes. He looks pale, withdrawn.

Peeta stops as they make their way onto the train, half-turning so he’s facing her, his eyes on the ground. When he speaks, his voice is strained.

“It's over. We can go back to normal.”

Katniss nods, feeling suddenly numb. She watches as Peeta turns and walks away, feeling like she's been set adrift.

* * *

Katniss walks into class to find the company ranks swelled to pre-culling levels, the new members either looking around nervously or pretending to be above it all. Katniss feels strange, looking at them. She’s only been in the company a matter of weeks longer, but in comparison, she’s now a seasoned professional.

She scans the room quickly, but she doesn’t see Gale. Or Peeta. They haven’t spoken since he walked away from her on the train, avoiding each other on the way back to their apartments, despite the fact that they live across the hall from one another.

Johanna’s already in her spot, and Katniss can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as she drops her bag on the floor. “I was worried you were going to abandon our barre while I was gone,” she says, lightly.

Johanna looks up at Katniss and rolls her eyes. “Not with these brain-dead losers around, I swear, every year they get dumber. And younger. And don’t tell me how your tour was, I don’t care.”

Katniss mimes zipping her lips as she sinks to the floor, unable to keep the smile from her face. At least one relationship is back to normal. She’s pulling her flat shoes on when Johanna throws her hands up in frustration. “Ugh, fine! How was your tour?”

Katniss laughs, and is about to answer when she sees Gale walk through the studio door. “I’ll be right back,” Katniss says instead and jumps up, running over to him. She slows as he sees her, giving him a small, awkward wave. He doesn’t say anything as she reaches him, just stares at her impassively.

“Hey,” she finally ventures, after the silence stretches on for too long. “Welcome?” Katniss says tentatively, gesturing around the studio.

Gale finally sighs, and says, “Hello, Katniss.” She notices the slight emphasis he places on her name and manages to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“Can we talk after class?” she asks instead. Gale huffs out a little breath, but he nods. “Good,” Katniss says, and walks back to her barre. “Sorry,” she breathes out, sitting back down next to Johanna.

“And who is that?” Johanna asks, eyeing Gale up and down. “Friend of yours?”

“We’ll see,” Katniss says, shrugging.

“Drama already?” Johanna asks gleefully. “Bless this company, at the very least it never fails to entertain.” Katniss smacks her.

“This spot isn’t taken, right? Hi, Katniss.”

Katniss looks up to see Lukida, dropping her bag on the other side of the barre. Johanna narrows her eyes at the interloper. “Do you know everyone new, Katniss?”

“It’s not taken,” Katniss tells Lukida, nudging Johanna with her foot, telling her to stand down. “Lukida won the gold medal,” Katniss explains to Johanna, who looks unimpressed.

“I was there, I know who she is. But it’s pretty brave to just throw your things at a soloist barre.”

Lukida shrugs, not backing down. “I’ve seen both of you dance. I wanted to be with the best.” Johanna unclenches a little at the compliment, but her eyes remain narrowed throughout class.

After one final big jump combination (“Step over développé, chassé grande jeté, ladies arms here, gentlemen, arms here,” Plutarch demonstrates, “quick passé, step step arabesque, arms opening, step step fouetté, step step tour jeté, tendu, coupé jetés to finish, thank you.”), and applauding, Katniss walks over with aching calves to grab her bag and to track down Gale.

“What do you have today?” Johanna asks as she hikes her leg up onto one of the barres to cool down.

“Little Swans, then our rehearsal, then fairies.” Katniss sighs. “It’s going to be a long day. But I have to find Gale first.”

“That’s his name? Gale? I’ll keep that in mind. Unless, of course, you object . . .” Johanna winks at Katniss. Katniss makes a face in response, and leaves Johanna to her stretching.

She finds Gale staring at the rehearsal schedule outside the studio, and Katniss walks up to him slowly, not wanting to spook him. She’s reaching out to tap him on the shoulder when he turns and sees her.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she says. Gale doesn’t say anything after that, just looks at her petulantly. Katniss gives up, rolling her eyes and pulling him into one of the empty studios.

“Say it,” she tells him. “Say what you need to say to me. I can’t have us like this. You’re my best friend. We’re in the same company, our dream company. We shouldn’t be like this.”

Gale looks uncomfortable at her straightforwardness, but Katniss doesn’t let up, staring at him until he breaks eye contact. “Gale,” she says. “It’s me.”

He’s staring at the ground. “You just left,” he says, finally.

“I . . . what? For the Prix? Did you not want me to go?” Katniss asks, confused.

“No, of course I wanted you to go to the Prix, I wanted you to win. And you did. You won. And I was happy for you, we were going to celebrate, you and me. But you never came back.”

Katniss is about to protest, that she couldn’t come back, that she’d had no choice but to accept the soloist contracts, the same arguments she had for Peeta, but she stops herself. Gale doesn’t know this, doesn’t know any of it. For all he knew, she wanted to join the company, wanted to leave Twelve, him, forever.

“It wasn’t like that. I wanted to come back. We wanted to come back. But Snow forced us.”

Gale gives Katniss a look. “I watched the Prix, Katniss. It’s not like he held a gun to your head.”

Katniss looks at Gale disbelievingly, stung by the flippant way he’s speaking. “You weren’t there, Gale. You don’t know what it’s like. And you don’t know what it’s like here. I had to do what I did. To do what I’m doing. Don’t you dare judge me for that.”

“What _are_ you doing?” Gale asks, almost sarcastic.

“The same thing you are,” Katniss says, staring him down.

Gale scoffs. “What, dancing the pas de trois with Mellark?”

Katniss frowns. “Yeah? And peasant pas, and Bluebird, and . . . you know what, does it matter?”

Gale shrugs. “I just think you’d get sick of it, dancing with him all the time.”

Katniss lets out a laugh. “Don’t tell me that’s what you’re upset about?” Gale looks hurt. “Gale, we’re dancing together because Snow thinks that our performances will sell more tickets. That the sponsors will give more money. That’s why we’re in the company. That’s why we went on tour.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Katniss says, trying to sound reassuring.

Gale shrugs his shoulders quickly, looking slightly less disgruntled. “Well, you should have told me.”

“I should have,” Katniss agrees. “I’m sorry. But we’re good, right?”

Gale can’t keep the smile from his face, and he opens his arms, Katniss giving him a quick hug. “We’re good,” he says.

Katniss steps back, breathing a sigh of relief. Two relationships back to normal.

“What’s it like, partnering Mellark?” Gale asks abruptly.

What is it like dancing with Peeta? She’s never thought about it in a way that it can be described. “It’s . . . good,” Katniss says distantly, thoughtfully. “We have a really strong connection.”

“Oh,” Gale says, sounding disappointed.

When Katniss enters Studio 9 for her first Little Swans rehearsal, she finds she’s the last one to arrive, and heads turn toward her as she pushes open the door. When they all immediately turn away, Katniss feels a little sting of hurt, which transforms into confusion when she hears one of the girls say, “It’s not him.”

“I’m not who?” she asks, dropping her bag.

“Beetee,” the same girl responds. Katniss shakes her head, not recognizing the name. The girl sees her confusion, and explains, “Beetee Latier, he’s the new ballet master. We’re the first rehearsal he’s running, no one’s met him yet. Enobaria, by the way.” The girl puts her hand out for Katniss to shake.

“Katniss,” she responds.

Enobaria raises her eyebrows. “I know,” she says, looking around. “We all know.”

Katniss doesn’t know how to respond to that, so she takes a seat to roll out her calf. She looks up when the door opens again, and this time it's the man they’ve been waiting for.

Beetee doesn’t look like the typical ballet master, his posture is hunched and his stride is uneven, but Katniss understands why Snow hired him once they’re dancing. The man is a master of technique, spotting every turned-in passé, every sickled foot, every late pas de chat. They spend a full hour on heads, when they turn, where they're focused.

“Ladies, the point of Little Swans is that you dance as one. When one of you is behind, the magic is lost. I’m speaking to you, girl on the left.”

Little Swans is all about repetition, but Katniss loses count of how many times they go through it, crossing the studio from side to side, hands joined with the swans on either side of her. One of the girls, Remy, confides in Katniss that she isn’t great at counting, and “Could you just squeeze my hand every time we change steps?” Katniss takes pity on her and agrees, squeezing after the final pas de bourrée passé, after the final échappé.

“Sorry for running long, everyone,” Beetee says, glancing at the clock. “We’ll pick up here next time.” Katniss realizes she’s late for her next rehearsal, grabs her bag, and runs.

Katniss enters the studio for pas de trois rehearsal to find both casts going through the first section, one group slightly in front of the other. Plutarch is running rehearsal, and she drops a quick curtsy to apologize for being late, dropping her bag by the mirrors. She's about to jump in to take her place, when she sees where they are in the music.

Peeta is lifting Johanna, turning her as she pirouettes in front of him. They smile pleasantly at each other. They jump, a balloné to each side.

Johanna is dancing her part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Fouetté (the other kind)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DzqQNlaahjs), [coupé jetés](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PzuMV13Fl08).
> 
> [Basilio variation](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_5lto74MF4&t=5m37s)
> 
> [ _Diamonds_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ArLbpD38sc)
> 
> [Little Swans](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gPIqF43Z1V0)


	5. Chapter 5

Katniss stands at the front of the studio next to Plutarch, feeling like the ground has dropped out from beneath her. Watching Johanna, comfortable, flying through the choreography where Katniss is still tentative. It’s no wonder she’s been replaced.

The pianist trills through the last section of music, Peeta makes a sweeping gesture with his arm, inviting Johanna to join him. She chaînés on the diagonal, bourrés forward, and goes up into a perfect pirouette, turning four, five times, before Peeta slows and balances her.

Johanna looks pleased, dropping out of her passé and taking a step back, nodding. She says something to Peeta, who nods back, miming a partnered pirouette and gesturing toward Katniss.

Katniss feels sick.

“Good,” Plutarch says. “Dammiel, you were too slow in the plié arabesques, get your arm up sooner. Thanks for helping out, Johanna. Can we run Cast B from the top now that Katniss has joined us?”

Katniss looks around uncertainly, not sure of where she’s supposed to go, if she’s supposed to fake her way through the choreography. She watches Peeta and Johanna walk back to the corner, when she sees Johanna preparing herself on Peeta’s left side. Where she usually stands. Katniss’ spot on Peeta’s right remains empty.

Relief floods through Katniss. Johanna was just helping out. Allowing Peeta to rehearse in her absence.

Katniss breathes out shakily before she joins them, running over and placing her hand on Peeta’s right shoulder, taking his outstretched hand. As one, they temps lié forward, then back, Plutarch calling out corrections as they dance.

Katniss tries to mimic Johanna, snapping up quickly into her pirouettes, trying to make her jumps sharper, her turns faster, but something about it feels wrong. Peeta doesn’t seem to know how to react either, his hands fumbling at her waist as he tries to balance her while she turns.

They finish, Katniss holding her passé, looking to Plutarch. He waves at them dismissively. “Fine. Let’s move on.”

“You okay?” Peeta asks as he and Katniss walk to the side. “You seemed off.”

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing. Just out of sorts. I thought . . . “ Katniss stops herself, not wanting to admit her moment of doubt. “Nevermind,” she says eventually. Peeta glances over at her, but she turns her gaze to Johanna, who’s doing changements en pointe.

After Peeta finishes dancing, his tour jetés higher than Katniss has ever seen them, Plutarch calling out his approval, it’s her turn. Launching into her variation, turning in a circle, small hops en pointe. She must know the choreography better than she thought, because she sails through it, turning on the diagonal what feels like seconds later, pushing off into a piqué tour.

“Double turns, Katniss, this isn’t a district company!” Plutarch shouts at her as she drops out of her first turn. Katniss hadn’t even realized she’d singled the piqué, and she nods as she goes into her second turn, a double this time.

“They should also be clean, Katniss!” Plutarch sounds exasperated with her. Katniss breathes out, and does the last four piqués into a soutenu, finishing with a pas de chat. She holds herself there, waiting for Plutarch’s nod of approval, then drops her arms when nothing comes.

They go straight into the coda, and Katniss thinks as she turns, that it’s going well, or at least, well enough, until she hears Plutarch barking, “You’re dancing like this is Act 2!” Peeta slows Katniss as Plutarch shouts, stopping her as she brings her arms to fourth. Katniss doesn’t understand what he means, so she keeps going, pushing off into a grande jeté.

When it’s over, when Katniss struggles to her feet from where she’s kneeling in front of Peeta, while he balances Johanna, her leg up behind her in a perfect attitude, Plutarch comes to stand directly in front of them.

“You’re not Odette, Katniss. You aren’t Siegfried, Peeta. This is a pleasant diversion. You’re an anonymous girl and the prince’s friend, dancing to amuse him, on his birthday. That’s it.”

“So, less intense?” Peeta asks, shaking out his legs. Katniss frowns.

Plutarch thinks, trying to decide the best way to coach them into what he wants to see. “Softer? No, that’s not it. You need to let it flow more.” Katniss nods at Plutarch, fixing the words in her head. Flowing. Softer.

“One more time. Just the turning section, please.” Everyone aside from Katniss and Peeta gets out of the way.

Katniss breathes out. Of course everyone is going to watch them now. She glances at the clock, but there’s still plenty of rehearsal left to go, time won’t save her.

She walks back to the corner, preparing, Peeta taking his place behind her. As she goes into her first tombé pas de bourrée, Katniss can tell already that it isn’t what Plutarch is looking for, but she grits her teeth and keeps going. Trying to turn quicker, spotting herself in the mirror, arms crisp and clean.

One more time is never just one more time, but the repetition doesn’t result in anything different. After five passes, Katniss feels like nothing she’s doing is working, and Plutarch is still shouting. Peeta has managed to dance like a pleasant birthday distraction, but Katniss is apparently still too intense.

Frustrated, Katniss goes to the corner again, about to tombé once more, when Peeta stops her, standing in her way, arresting her ineffectual fall into the step.

“Katniss.”

She meets his eyes sullenly. He grasps her upper arms, holding her in place.

“Stop. Breathe. You’re thinking too much.”

Katniss twists her mouth, wanting to protest, but Peeta keeps going. “Just . . . dance,” he says simply, his voice low enough that only she can hear him. “Forget about Plutarch. Remember when we practiced these for hours?” Katniss nods, her mind flashing back to the dimly lit studio, the muscle memory. “Do that. Don’t make it a thing. Just turn.”

Katniss inhales. Exhales. Just turn. Nothing to it.

But it's not nothing. It's everything.

She nods, at Peeta, then to the pianist, turning to face the mirror. She chooses her spot, narrowing her focus to the tiny mark on the wall, steps into sous-sus, and falls.

But somehow, Peeta’s words work where nothing else has.

Katniss feels lighter, letting her arms float. Squaring her feet into fourth, lifting herself, her foot straight to her knee. Turning, turning, and then lifting her arms to fourth, holding, holding. As she turns into one last soutenu, letting her back leg lift into a triumphant attitude, she knows she’s got it.

She turns her face to Peeta, who’s mirroring her, and he grins. “Told you,” he says, and Katniss laughs out loud, feeling like she's done something well for the first time all day.

“Better,” Plutarch pronounces. “All right, let’s run Cast A, please.” Katniss sighs in relief at the prospect of a break.

They spend the rest of rehearsal alternating with the other cast, and Plutarch seems, if not pleased, approving of where they are. When he excuses them, Katniss immediately sinks to the ground next to the mirror, staring at the ceiling and letting the tension leave her.

Johanna joins her, a little more sedately, but worn out, herself. “You still dizzy, Firebird?” she asks as Katniss sits back up. “I thought Plutarch was going to lose his mind until you finally stopped dancing like it was the end of the world. You need to lighten up.” Katniss glares at her, then looks up as Peeta comes over to them.

“Thanks, for offering to fill in,” Peeta says, touching Johanna lightly on the shoulder. “It really helped.”

Johanna looks up, winks. “My pleasure.” Peeta smiles in response, glances at Katniss quickly, and then he’s gone.

Katniss sees Johanna watching her out of the corner of her eye, and busies herself with taking off her shoes, which are officially dead.

Katniss lifts her head to find Johanna regarding her coolly, her gaze piercing. “Something’s up with you,” she muses, tapping her finger on her lips, measuring Katniss up. “You thought I stole your part,” she declares after a moment.

Katniss looks down at her feet, realizes this is probably showing weakness, and meets Johanna’s eyes with what she hopes is a defiant look, nodding.

“Good.”

Katniss doesn’t know whether to keep glaring or relent and ask Johanna why that’s a good thing. Johanna saves her from having to give in.

“You’re finally figuring out how this company works. You shouldn’t trust anyone, least of all me. Do you know how I made soloist?” Katniss shakes her head silently, untying her ribbons without breaking Johanna’s gaze.

“I stole Chinese from someone. It was during the studio runthrough. I knew it, I did it in the background while they were rehearsing, I was better. I got the part, I got the promotion,” Johanna continues, standing up, everything about her forbidding. Katniss swallows.

Johanna cocks her head. “But I wouldn’t do that to you, Katniss. We’re friends.” She sounds sincere, but Katniss purses her lips.

“Are we?” Katniss asks, not blinking.

Johanna laughs, high and mocking. “You’re learning. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” Only after Johanna exits the studio and the door closes behind her does Katniss allow herself to consider the fact that they may not have been talking about ballet.

When Katniss arrives at Studio 12 for her last rehearsal of the day, she’s so exhausted it takes all her strength just to push the door open. Even the sight of the studio where she spent so much time during the Prix only lifts her spirits slightly.

Cinna is leaning on the piano, talking to the pianist, and Katniss manages a weak smile as she walks over to him, giving him a brief hug. Cinna looks concerned when he sees her face, and he pushes her toward one of the chairs set against the mirrors, making her sit. “You look worn out,” he says. “It’s been a day,” Katniss explains.

“How so?” Cinna asks, crossing his arms and scrutinizing her.

Katniss shakes her head. “I don’t really want to talk about it. Can I just dance? Something other than _Swan Lake_?”

“Well, all you have to do to today is learn Violente, and then you can go home and sleep.” Cinna smiles at her, and that’s enough to get Katniss standing.

By the end of rehearsal, Katniss never wants to do another chaîné, and has forgotten what it’s like to not point her fingers. “What’s with all the pointing anyway?” she asks Cinna, as she removes her shoes, wincing at the sight of her toes after her long day.

Cinna shakes his head. “Russians,” he says, by way of an explanation. “Sorry we got stuck in here, I'll make sure we get a better studio next time,” he continues.

Looking around, she smiles fondly. “I missed this studio, this is the first rehearsal I've had in it.” She pats the floor like it's a living thing, reminiscing over the hours she and Peeta spent rehearsing, late night after late night.

Cinna lets out a laugh. “You must be joking. No one likes this studio, it's so cramped. I felt so bad for you and Peeta during the Prix, it’s only really used then and for solo rehearsals, and even then when we have no other choice.” Katniss feels a little offended on the studio’s behalf. Then an idea comes to her. “So you're saying no one uses this studio?”

“Rarely, if ever. Why?”

Katniss shrugs. “Just wondering.” Cinna gives her a strange look.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he says, offering her a hand up. “Go home, rest.” Katniss flips off the lights as they leave, but pauses for a moment in contemplation. She pats the door once, and turns to walk down the hallway with Cinna.

* * *

Rehearsals, like the tour, begin to blend together. Day after day, variation after variation, reserves of strength and endurance stretched to the limit. Katniss dances with the fairies, with the swans. Each day rehearsing doing more to make her feel like a company member than actually joining the company did.

For _Vertiginous Thrill_ , working up the tempo until they can handle the blazingly fast choreography. Turning from corner to corner, their arms moving, making shapes, Peeta balancing Katniss as she kicks her leg to the vertical, and then immediately onto the next step.

Katniss tries to understand the piece itself, trying to comprehend the choreographic homages to Balanchine, to Petipa, but when she dances, it’s all she can do just to keep up with the music.

Then peasant pas, where they try to convey the delight and hope of the engaged couple they portray. It’s also the role where they’re on the stage for the longest amount of time, with two variations each and one adagio together. Katniss just tries to make it through rehearsal without collapsing.

Bluebird, where Peeta jumps, forcing himself higher, pushing himself through the line of famous brisé volés. Katniss fights to hold her balances, to keep her épaulement sharp. Managing the quick jumps together, hands joined, faster every day.

When the gala performances are announced, Katniss can’t even be surprised to see that she and Peeta be closing the show with an encore performance of _Diana and Actaeon_.

Cinna has mentioned offhand that their performances have already sold out the entire opera house, and Katniss knows that the gala is the biggest night of the season for the company, the annual champagne reception afterward notable for both the amount of money donated and the infamy of the attendees.

Katniss supposes she should be daunted by the idea of performing a pas de deux, by closing the entire gala in front of the most important balletomanes in the Capitol, but she’s too exhausted to be intimidated.

* * *

The hallways are quiet as Katniss pushes open the door to Studio 12, breathing out in relief as she sees the light off and the studio empty. Cinna hadn’t lied, Katniss hasn’t run into anyone throughout the many evenings she’s spent alone, rehearsing.

She’d snuck back, the next night. And there, alone in the studio, she’d danced for herself. Trying to push herself to be cleaner, quicker, sharper, softer. Trying to float through jumps, grande jeté into tour jeté, into turns, one after the other. Centered. Focused. Reclaiming the choreography, finding imperfections in the mirror, fixing them.

Katniss has come back most nights since then, when she feels uncertain, even when she feels strong. She hasn’t told anyone where she goes, what’s she’s doing, and the only person who seems to have an inkling that she’s rehearsing alone is Peeta, but he doesn’t press her, only making comments about her late nights, which she shrugs off.

Sometimes Katniss wonders if it would be better if Peeta was there with her, together like in their Prix days, but she doesn’t want to push. They spend enough time dancing together during rehearsals, and she worries about overstepping her bounds.

Since their tour, they’ve existed in a heightened state of awareness of each other. Katniss is constantly watching him out of the corner of her eyes during class, and she can tell he’s doing the same. During rehearsals, they’ve gotten back into the mindset they had during the Prix. Always pushing, doing more, doing whatever it takes. Communicating silently with flicks of their eyes, movements of hands.

Katniss feels like Peeta’s waiting for something from her, but he doesn’t give her any sign as to what that could be. So instead she throws herself into rehearsal, working toward the one thing she does know. That if they are to impress the audience, to prove they belong, to establish themselves as the soloists they are, they must be perfect. And so Katniss rehearses.

This night, Katniss decides to work on peasant pas, skipping the first section and going straight to the second of her two variations.

The first variation is spent mostly en pointe, quick waltz steps and hops in attitude, ballonés and bourrées. It is, to put it lightly, a bitch of a variation. If she’s going to work on something, it might as well be something she enjoys.

The second variation is more her speed, lame ducks and entrechat trois. Peeta comes in to join her at the end, for the finale, but she doesn’t need him now, relying instead on her own strength to hold herself up for her final développé front.

She’s taken to running her variations without music at first, partly for luck, since it worked out so well for the Prix, but also for the way she can find moments for herself, letting her leg stretch behind her higher, faster, longer. Letting it fall in its own movement, controlled, precise.

The sound of the door opening behind her startles Katniss into dropping out of her arabesque. She prepares her excuse for being in the studio, and comes up short as she turns to find Gale standing in the open doorway.

“What are you doing here?” she asks stupidly. No one’s supposed to be in the building now. “What are _you_ doing here?” Gale mimics her tone exactly.

“Rehearsing.” Katniss gestures to the studio. “Obviously.”

“By yourself? Rehearsals ended hours ago.”

Katniss shrugs. “Why are you still here, then?” Gale indicates his face, saying, “Headshots. For the programs.”

“Ah.” Neither of them speaks, and Katniss fidgets awkwardly, crossing her arms. Gale rolls his eyes at her and drops his bag by the door. “Was that peasant pas?” he asks, walking to the front of the studio. Katniss nods.

“Well, come on then, let’s get you rehearsing.”

“And you’re going to help how?” Katniss scoffs.

“You forget,” Gale says, turning on the music, “I know this. Back in Twelve. You didn’t watch.”

Katniss screws up her face in guilt. Gale did do peasant pas, in the production in Twelve. And Katniss hadn’t watched, too busy preparing for her own performance. “Sorry.”

Gale tilts his head, his way of accepting her apology, as she begins to piqué. “It wasn’t that good anyway,” he says, watching her as she moves across the floor.

“Good enough to get you into the company,” Katniss retorts, landing her jump and stepping back.

Gale snorts and walks to the side of the studio. “Yeah, my skills in ballet are very useful here. Do you want to know what I learned in rehearsal today? How to acknowledge the people that will be dancing in the middle of the stage while I stand on the side. It’s very important. The arm lifts, and then,” he pauses, demonstrating with an exaggerated movement, “it drops.”

Katniss wrinkles her nose at Gale’s sarcasm. “The corps is important, Gale. We wouldn’t be a company without you.” She stops talking as she begins to turn.

“Yeah, it’s just a little strange when I have to sit around and do nothing, watching my old partner and her boyfriend getting all the attention.”

Katniss drops out of her attitude. “Seriously, Gale?”

Gale shrugs, and pushes off into a saut de basque. “I’m just saying.”

Katniss glares at him, but he doesn’t stop jumping. “I thought you were rehearsing,” he calls to her as he lands and tombés. Still glaring, Katniss begins to turn in coupé, mirroring Gale as he jumps, her annoyance showing in her steps as they begin to waltz toward each other.

“I don’t want attention,” Katniss says as she bourrées forward and snaps up into a pirouette. Gale’s hands are at her waist, but it’s almost like he’s pulling her to the side as he turns her, and Katniss barely manages to keep herself upright, falling back and letting her leg come with her.

Adjusting for her lack of balance, Katniss steps into her final turn, Gale at her side, and the music comes to an end as they stand together, arms linked. Katniss looks up at Gale where he stands next to her, and finishes her thought. “I just want to dance.”

Gale looks a little ashamed, and drops his arm from hers. “You know I think you deserve everything you’ve got,” he says. “It’s just weird that you got there before me.”

Katniss meets Gale’s eyes in the mirror, and sighs, resigned. “I know. But this is where we are. Where I am.”

There’s a long charged silence, then Gale asks awkwardly, “Did you change your turn?”

Katniss laughs, echoing in the studio. “Yeah. It wasn’t working. Suffice it to say, Finnick Odair is a pretty good coach. Come on, I’ll tell you the story, I’m done for tonight.” Grabbing her bag, she walks to the door and pulls it open, letting Gale follow her as she makes her way down the hallway.

* * *

As Katniss walks into the big studio, she can feel the air thrumming with tension, or excitement, she can't tell which. It's the first studio runthrough of _Swan Lake_ , and all the big guns are being pulled out. Snow himself will be running the rehearsal, and the full board of directors will be on hand to watch.

As the board files in, Katniss sees more than a few familiar faces. Plenty of sponsors she spoke to at the Prix, and waving gaily at the assembled dancers as he enters the room is Caesar Flickerman. “Caesar’s on the board of the company too?” Katniss mutters under her breath to Finnick, who's stretching next to her.

“The man’s a media mogul with more money than anyone, of course he’s on the board,” Finnick snarks. “I can’t think of an organization in the Capitol he isn’t involved with.”

Katniss raises her eyebrows, and then watches as Finnick goes up to each board member, greeting them warmly. Maybe a little too warm, as one of his cheek kisses lingers a little too long to be polite on one of the women she recognizes from the Prix reception. Katniss wonders what Annie would think.

Someone claps their hands, calling everyone to attention, and Katniss looks over to see that it’s Snow himself. She hasn’t seen him since their meeting in Plutarch’s office. His eyes rove over the company, passing over Katniss completely. Katniss breathes out in relief. She doesn’t want any attention called to her, not today.

Snow seems almost deferential as he welcomes the board to their first studio runthrough. Katniss supposes even he answers to someone, and she suppresses a smirk as she curtsies along with the rest of the company.

Finding a seat next to Johanna along the side of the studio, Katniss sits back to watch as the corps gets themselves into position for the beginning of Act 1. The pianist starts playing, and rehearsal begins, Peeta raising an imaginary glass in a toast to Finnick’s Siegfried. Katniss stretches her legs out in front of her, watching the famous waltz that opens the ballet.

Katniss realizes she doesn’t know the protocol for entrances during studio runthroughs, and leans over to Johanna to ask what they need to do for pas de trois. She’s just started whispering when the sight of Gale collapsing to the floor, dropping the girl he’s lifting, makes her gasp out loud.

There’s a momentary pause while the rest of the corps realizes someone in their intricate pattern isn’t with them, and then the dancers around Gale keep going, the women grand jeté-ing around him, over him. Katniss doesn’t know why anyone isn’t stopping, and gets to her feet.

Johanna grabs Katniss’ arm, warning her away with a sharp shake of her head. “Don’t.” Katniss pauses for a moment, but then shrugs her off and runs to where Gale lies prone on the floor. Katniss is sickeningly reminded of how Peeta looked the same way when he injured his knee.

The pianist sees her running and stops playing, dancers stopping mid-leap, moving out of Katniss’ way, standing scattered in her wake. Gale’s hand is pressed to his lower back, and she can see he’s breathing in short pants.

“What is it?” Katniss asks, and places her hand on the injured area as Gale groans out, “The muscle. I can keep going, it’s nothing.”

Snow stands from his chair by the piano, walking to where Katniss crouches by Gale’s side. He looks down at Katniss, looming over her. “You have stopped my rehearsal. This is unacceptable. Remove yourself, and allow this young man to keep dancing.”

“I’m taking you to PT,” Katniss says to Gale, pulling him to his feet, supporting him as he hunches over in pain. She repeats herself for Snow’s benefit. “I’m taking him to the PT room.”

“I beg your pardon?” Snow arches an eyebrow, and claps his hands. “Back to positions, please excuse this unfortunate interruption,” directing the last part to the board. “Some of our newer company members are apparently unaware of how rehearsals are run. I will have to correct that in the future.”

“Can’t you see, he’s hurt!” Katniss cries, aware of the scene she’s making.

“It’s not my concern,” Snow says dismissively. “My concern is that we are delaying rehearsal. May we move on, please?”

Katniss feels Gale’s weight on her lessen, and looks over to see Peeta pulling Gale’s other arm over his shoulder. “We’re taking him to get checked,” Peeta says, his tone mild, belying the defiance in his stance.

“No.” Snow’s voice is curt. Katniss doesn’t blink, staring Snow down. She can sense Peeta doing the same on Gale’s other side.

“Let’s skip the Queen’s entrance, please,” Snow bites out, murder in his eyes. “May I have the pas de trois?” Katniss’ eyes snap to Johanna, who makes a small movement forward, but doesn’t stand up.

“Run the other cast.” Peeta’s voice has a hard edge to it, and Katniss looks at him sharply, staggering under the weight of Gale’s arm. He isn’t backing down, his mouth set. Snow looks like he’s about to snap.

They’re saved by Caesar. “Let them take him, Coriolanus. It’s not like we don’t know how these two dance together,” he says reassuringly.

Snow looks back at Caesar, glaring, then composing himself as he sees the board in their seats against the mirror, vague looks of concern on their faces. Pressing his lips together, he relents, his voice cold. “Always the voice of reason, Caesar. Very well, then.” Snow gestures for them to go.

Katniss doesn’t give him a chance to change his mind. Pulling Gale forward, Peeta on his other side, they lurch out of the studio. As they make their way through the door, she hears Caesar say, “Well, they certainly have spirit in Twelve, don’t they?”

The board’s light laughter follows them down the hallway. Gale lets out small yelps with each step, and Katniss shakes her head at him. “You seriously meant to keep dancing like this?”

When they reach the PT room, Katniss darts forward, leaving Peeta to hold Gale up, shoving open the door and watching as Peeta maneuvers Gale face down onto one of the tables.

Taking a step back, she stands next to Peeta, watching as one of the staff members comes over to them, alerted to their presence by Gale’s groans. “What’s this?” she asks, leaning over to see exactly who is on her table.

“He was doing a lift, he just collapsed. I think it’s his back . . .” Katniss trails off, wincing as the woman prods at Gale’s spine and he lets out an agonized scream.

“Well, that’s not good,” she says, looking up at Katniss and smiling. “I’ll take it from here.”

Katniss knows there’s nothing she can do, that staying would be futile, but she can’t help but looking back in anguish as she walks out of the room. “He’ll be fine, Katniss,” Peeta says, rubbing his neck as they make their way back down the hallway.

“Yeah,” Katniss breathes out, glancing back, then looking at Peeta next to her. “Thanks,” she says, tentatively. “You didn’t have to do that.” He didn’t have to throw his lot in with her, taking a stand against the Artistic Director in front of the board, but he didn’t hesitate. She hopes Gale realizes what Peeta did for him, that he’ll be grateful once he’s healed.

Peeta shrugs, his smile rueful. “Yeah, I did.”

Katniss looks at him sideways, knitting her eyebrows. Peeta sees she’s looking for a reason, and goes on.

“Well, I couldn’t let you get kicked out of the company, you’re my only partner. Also, it felt good. You know, to stand up to Snow. He can’t make people dance injured. It’s not right.”

Katniss understands his vehemence, knowing the history, and nods in agreement. Looking around, Katniss hears the music for the entrance of the swans tinkling through the cracked door of the studio. “Well, we’ve officially missed everything.”

“Should we even go back?” Peeta laughs sardonically, hearing the same music she does.

“No,” Katniss says, thinking. She extends a hand to Peeta. “Come with me.”

Peeta gives her a cautious look, but he takes her hand, and they walk together down the deserted hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Pas de trois](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DXG2TiAQwvg&t=12m10s)
> 
> [Chinese](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iiyx1m44nMM)
> 
> [Violente Fairy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iwEjmogmh-g)
> 
> [Peasant pas variation](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GM-PUdUgIgs&t=6m51s)
> 
> [_Swan Lake_ waltz](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DXG2TiAQwvg&t=5m1s)


	6. Chapter 6

“So what do you think Snow will do to us for the stunt we just pulled?” Peeta muses darkly as they traverse the empty hallways.

“Well, he can’t cut the music on a live orchestra, so I think we’re safe there,” Katniss says, pressing her lips together.

“Maybe he’ll pull us from the season.”

“He can’t, we’ve sold out the whole opera house, Cinna told me,” Katniss replies, turning her head to look at Peeta.

Peeta’s eyes light up at her revelation, but then his expression turns grim. “But the tickets have already been sold, all they have to do is announce a cast change the night of and no one will be the wiser,” he explicates.

Katniss’ stomach contracts. She hadn’t considered that. Using them to sell tickets and then keeping them offstage is exactly the kind of sabotage Snow would employ. “Then we can’t let that happen.” She sets her shoulders and keeps walking.

Once they’re safely ensconced in Studio 12, Peeta giving her a significant look as she pushes the door open, Katniss begins to pace.

“How do we fix this,” she mutters to herself. The realization of what she’s done, what Peeta’s gotten himself into by standing alongside her, is starting to sink in, added to the underlying current of her worry over Gale. Katniss paces a little faster.

“I don’t know if we can,” Peeta says as he looks around the familiar studio. “All we can do is show up to rehearsal tomorrow and hope we don’t get fired in the meantime.”

Katniss stomach drops at Peeta’s outright stating of the consequences of their action. What can she even do if they get fired? It’s not like they can return to the academy. And no company would pick up two ex-soloists who never performed in a single performance.

“You could talk to him?” Katniss suggests weakly.

Peeta gives her a look. “Why me?” he asks.

“Well, we know he hates me, and my terrible épaulement, and my biscuit feet, so . . . “

Peeta rolls his eyes. “You forget, I’ve never actually spoken to the man. You’re the one who accepted the contracts. And he met with you in Plutarch’s office, not me. I don’t think he even knows I exist as a dancer, I’m just the person who picks you up and moves you around.”

Katniss scoffs, but Peeta stops her protest. “I’m just saying, I don’t think I’m the solution here. I did just stand in front of the entire company and defy him alongside you.”

Katniss gives him a desperate look. “We have to do something,” she says. She can’t do nothing right now.

Peeta shrugs. “We could dance,” he ventures.

“I don’t think that’s going to help us,” Katniss says.

“I think it’s the only thing that’s going to help us.” Peeta’s voice is serious as he offers her his hand. “Like Mr. A said. Be perfect. Don’t give him a choice.”

Katniss lets out a snort. “Happy Hunger Games,” she says sarcastically.

Peeta raises his eyebrows as she reaches out, leaning her torso forward, grasping his outstretched hand. She keeps going, lifting her leg behind her into a penchée. Peeta realizes what she’s doing as she bends forward, and steps back into a lunge, holding his arm strong, still as she balances. Katniss flicks her eyes to the mirror.

Perfect.

There’s a hint of a satisfaction in his voice as Peeta asks, “So, pas de trois?”

Katniss groans, and lowers her leg. “Can we do literally anything else?”

“The new coda?”

Katniss shakes her head. Plutarch had informed them the _Diana and Actaeon_ coda they’d performed in the districts wouldn’t pass muster in the Capitol, and they’d learned the new version the week before. Mostly it involves Katniss doing more fouettés than she can count, especially while she’s turning. “I can’t spot that much today, I just can’t.”

“ _Vertiginous Thrill_?”

Katniss nods. The rapidity of the choreography won’t give her a chance to think about anything else. Just dancing, flowing to the next step, angling herself from one corner to the next.

Peeta stands to put the music on, and they spend the next hour running the piece, over and over. Katniss forgets, forgets that their positions in the company are precarious, forgets that Gale’s lying on a table, forgets everything. Her focus narrows to Schubert and holding her fifth. Pulling up, up, passé to arabesque to passé again. The balance before the fall.

When Katniss finally begs off, needing a break, she slides down against the mirror, stretching her legs out in front of her. Peeta comes to join her,

“I don’t get the title,” Katniss says as she pops her ankles.

Peeta frowns at her. “Huh?”

“The title. I don’t get it. What’s the thrill?”

Peeta shakes his head, giving Katniss a strange look.

“So is this where you’ve been disappearing to at night?” he asks, changing the subject.

Katniss shrugs. “No one’s using it,” she says simply.

“But what are you doing in here?”

Katniss gives Peeta a look. She can’t believe she has to explain this to him. “Rehearsing,” she says, the obviously left unsaid.

“All night?” Peeta sounds concerned for some reason. “I can hear you come home, Katniss. When do you sleep?”

“When do _you_ sleep?” Katniss shoots back, offended. “Since you’re clearly up.”

Peeta’s gaze flicks down. He has the good grace to look abashed. “I thought, maybe you were . . . “ He trails off, leaving his thought unfinished.

He looks up again, meeting her eyes. “Why are you rehearsing?”

Katniss stares at Peeta in confusion, but her response is cut off by the crash of the door as it flies open, slamming into the wall. Johanna stalks in, eyes hard.

“Well, you two have seriously fucked yourselves,” she spits out. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere, why are you in this hellhole?”

Katniss’ defensive retort is cut off by the sight of Finnick following Johanna through the open door. “She’s right,” he says. “About you fucking yourselves, not the hellhole part. Although this studio is . . . not great.” Finnick makes a face, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Katniss shoots a quick glance at Peeta, whose look of confusion at Finnick’s entrance mirrors her own. She can understand why Johanna would come after them, the left behind third of their pas de trois, but Finnick?

The two older dancers come to a stop in front of where Katniss and Peeta are sprawled in front of the mirror, looking down on them with identical glares on their faces. Johanna’s hip is cocked.

“So what did you think you were going to accomplish?” Finnick asks. Katniss shrugs her shoulders, a quick jerk.

“You're lucky Finnick stepped up and calmed Snow down. It was pretty masterful, if I do say so myself.”

Finnick inclines his head at Johanna in acknowledgement of his success. “I reminded him of the lucrative opportunities you’re going to provide. And that keeping the board on the hook is a good thing. A little bit of mystery surrounding you two can only help, not hurt.”

“Thanks,” Peeta says warily.

Katniss glances over at him and shakes her head, still unsure about trusting Finnick’s unsolicited aid. Unable to keep the suspicion out of her voice, she asks, “Sorry, but why do you care?”

Finnick’s expression is affronted as he turns to face Katniss. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in your future. A future that may not exist if you keep pulling this shit.” Katniss blinks in response, a disbelieving look on her face, her eyes not leaving Finnick’s.

Finnick sighs, walking over to the side of the studio, leaning all his weight on the barre. He seems to come to a decision, and turns back to them.

“Look, you two may not realize it, but when you signed those contracts, it changed things. It used to be that the choreography and the prestige of the company were all we needed.The same old seats would be filled by the same old snobs, season after season. You’d have a farewell, sometimes a promotion, but for the most part, things stayed status quo.”

“But now,” Finnick continues, “you burst onto the scene. Prix favorites, who also just happen to be in love. And then you get crowned the winners, become the youngest soloists in company history, and now everyone’s really interested. Suddenly, ballet is exciting again. Everybody—Capitol, District, young, old, poor, rich—wants to see you, be you. In this day and age, that’s valuable to a company.”

“So you want to hitch your wagon to our rising stars, that’s it?” Katniss asks, the sarcasm thick.

“I think what you meant to say was, ‘We’re so grateful you saved our careers, Finnick, how can we ever make it up to you?’” Finnick says coolly. Johanna snorts.

Katniss looks over at Peeta, who shrugs. She can tell what he’s thinking, that the shrug means that they could do worse than having Finnick Odair backing them in their inevitable struggle against Snow.

And, Katniss admits, Finnick’s support helped them immeasurably during the Prix. She just doesn’t like having to owe someone, regardless of who it may be.

Katniss huffs out a resigned sigh. “We’re very grateful,” she says through gritted teeth. “For saving our careers . . . ” Finnick prompts. Katniss glares at him.

Finnick puts his hands up in surrender, smirking, seeing that’s all he’s going to get out of her.

Johanna rolls her eyes. “I give up.”

“Thank you,” Peeta says again, a little more sincerely.

“Better,” Johanna acknowledges. She plucks at Finnick’s elbow. “Let’s get out of here, I’m bored with this.”

Finnick nods, and turns to leave. His head swivels back toward Katniss and Peeta.

“Don’t make me sorry I put my neck on the line for you.” He points at them both, and Katniss watches them leave silently. Her eyes meet Peeta’s.

“All our problems solved,” he says, half his mouth turning up into some semblance of a smile.

“If only it were that easy,” she replies. "Should we go after them?"

Peeta gets to his feet. "I'll go," he says, walking to the door. "See if I can really make it clear how much we appreciate their help. Stay here, I'll be right back."

Katniss watches him go, letting out a little breath.

* * *

Katniss walks into the big studio the next day, doing her best to remain aloof. Peeta had returned after a long conversation, telling Katniss of the assurances Finnick had reiterated regarding their position with the Artistic Director. "Johanna said the company might not be our biggest fans, though."

"When are they ever?" Katniss had responded.

Heads turn at her entrance, and whispering immediately commences. Katniss keeps her eyes straight ahead of her, and walks straight to her barre, nodding at Lukida, sinking less than gracefully to the floor and pulling on a thick pair of socks over her flat shoes, her feet needing the extra warmth.

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices that half the room is staring at her, and the other half is focused across the room. She follows their gazes to Gale’s spot, which to Katniss’ surprise, isn’t empty.

“That little shit.” The words are out of her mouth before she realizes she’s said anything.

“Who?” Lukida asks, looking around.

Katniss doesn’t acknowledge Lukida’s question, too preoccupied with staring daggers at Gale, who’s joking with Cato across the barre, showing no sign of pain as he stretches.

“I swear, if it was just a cramp . . . ” Katniss mutters under her breath.

Lukida frowns and follows Katniss’ eyeline to see what she’s looking at, and makes a noise of recognition. She leans a little closer to Katniss and says, voice low, “Herniated disk, I heard them talking during my adjustment.”

Katniss sucks in air through her teeth. “Then why is he here?”

Lukida shrugs. “I wouldn’t miss the class after my very public injury if I were him. Things are different in the corps,” she says plainly. “If you get pulled, that’s it.”

The guilt hits Katniss unexpectedly. She had been so preoccupied with worrying over the consequences for her and Peeta that she hadn’t considered what Gale would have to deal with.

“I’ll talk to him after class,” Katniss says, mostly to herself.

Lukida raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

Katniss starts at the girl’s bluntness. Her eyes narrow. “Maybe don’t tell me what to do with my oldest friend,” Katniss says warningly.

Lukida blinks and looks away. “Just trying to give you some friendly advice.”

“Next time, don’t.”

Katniss keeps a careful eye on Gale throughout class, and she can tell that he’s tentative, cautious. She shakes her head. This isn’t helping anyone, least of all him. Not when it’s clear he’s dancing through the pain.

She corners him after class. “What the shit, Gale? I throw myself on the line for you, in front of everyone, and you’re trying to act like you’re not even hurt?”

Gale looks around hurriedly, seeing if anyone overheard Katniss’ hisses. He grabs her by the shoulder, steering her into an empty alcove.

Speaking in an undertone, his words coming fast, Gale looks hard into Katniss’ eyes. “Look, I’m very grateful—”

Katniss flinches, the words reminding her of her conversation with Finnick.

Gale keeps going. “—but I need to take care of myself. It’s just a herniated disk, and it’s just the right side affected. I have to make it through the season, then there’s just the week for the fall, and then I have an entire month before _Nutcracker_.”

“Take care of yourself, do you even know what you’re saying?”

“Take care of my future. I mean, you did the same during the Prix, right?” Gale isn’t blinking.

“What does that mean?” Katniss asks, looking at Gale sideways.

“I talked to Cato, he said you pushed Peeta to keep going after his knee injury. He couldn’t believe you were trying to sabotage me like that yesterday.”

Katniss gapes, her mouth opening and closing, words refusing to come to her lips.

“ _Sabotage_? Are you fucking kidding me? First off, you’re listening to Cato, of all people?” She’s seeing red, her hands grasping at imaginary throats at her sides.

Gale shrugs. “He’s a cool guy, he knows what’s up. He’s got all sorts of inside information on the company.”

“With all that inside information, why don’t you ask Cato how Peeta’s knee got injured in the first place?”

“I just think you’re being a little hypocritical, that’s all.” Gale sounds like he’s being endlessly patient with her, which only makes Katniss angrier.

“Fine.” Katniss bites the word out, and turns to leave.

Gale grabs her arm.

“Don’t be mad. It really is better.”

Katniss looks up at him, the expression on her face making it clear she doesn’t believe him. Gale shrinks back. “Okay, fine. But no one noticed.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Gale,” she spits, wrenching her arm away.

She throws her bag down in front of the mirror at fairies rehearsal, startling the Breadcrumbs. Katniss ignores them. She fumes through the group dance, then uses the emotion to fuel her own variation, her arms sharp and her feet quick. It seems to work. Beetee actually nods in her direction briefly before moving onto the Lilac variation.

Her anger carries her through the day, when Katniss escapes to her studio (she can’t remember when she started calling it that) and she relaxes, shedding all of the tension she’s been carrying in her shoulders.

Gale’s wrong. He is. He shouldn’t be pushing himself through something so serious. And Peeta’s situation was different. It was for one performance. And it was a matter of days, not an entire season on the line.

Katniss realizes she’s reaching at straws, and her anger returns. Because Gale is right, she is being a hypocrite. And if it was her in his situation, of course she’d push through the pain. It’s why she’s here in this studio, night after night. The goal of perfection. Not letting anything, not something so insignificant as her body betraying her, get in her way.

“This is stupid,” she says out loud.

“It probably is,” comes the response. “But what’s stupid?”

Katniss looks up to see Peeta, standing behind her in the mirror.

She doesn’t answer, taken aback at the sight of him. “Nothing,” she replies, turning to face him.

“I’m going to guess it has something to do with Gale trying to limp his way through class today?”

Katniss sighs, and nods. “He called me a hypocrite, because we did the same thing for the Prix.”

“I think I’d be the hypocrite, not you, in that situation.” Peeta’s still standing by the door, like he doesn’t want to intrude on her space.

Katniss shakes her head. “I’m done. I tried.” She lets out a sigh, then looks up. “What are you doing here, Peeta?” Her exhaustion comes out in her voice.

“You never answered me before,” he says, walking towards her. “Why are you rehearsing, again?”

Katniss tries to come up with a reason, a justification, but no words come. Every explanation she can think of, I want to be perfect, I’m worried I won’t be good enough, I need to prove I belong here, doesn’t seem to do justice to the drive that pushes her back to this studio, night after night.

“It’s all I can do,” she says, eventually.

It seems to make sense to him, though, because Peeta takes another step closer. He drops his bag off his shoulder. He extends a hand to her. She lets him lift her up.

He nods at her. She nods back.

* * *

Katniss catches her first glimpse of the opera house when it’s still a block away, the architecture Madame Trinket had waxed so fondly over during the Prix sparkling in the early morning sunshine.

It’s move-in day, and Katniss is dragging the largest suitcase she owns behind her, filled with shoes, more shoes, warm-ups, all the make-up she owns, and everything else she’ll need for the season.

The season, which is coming up faster than Katniss would like. Now that Peeta’s joined her in the studio at night, she truly feels like she’s doing all she can to prepare, but even then, will it be enough? The true judges of their success will be the audiences, the critics, not herself. And, of course, Snow.

She follows one of the corps girls through the stage door, and walks down the long familiar hallway, catching snippets of conversation from each dressing room she passes.

“—turned her face blue—”

“—find my toe spacer anywhere—”

“—maybe if we start an epic love affair, we’ll get promoted next—”

Katniss pauses at the last one, just out of sight. She listens to see if the speaker will go on, but the conversation has already jumped to another topic. She feels hot all over, like someone’s caught her doing something she shouldn’t.

By the time she reaches the dressing room she’s sharing with Johanna, she’s managed to calm herself down, but she still throws her bag down with a louder thump than is truly necessary. Katniss had forgotten, that with the season on the horizon, she and Peeta will have to present themselves as the star-crossed partners from District Twelve once more.

In the deep hours of the night, with no one else around, Katniss feels like it’s them against the world. Like some sort of reclamation is happening, for themselves, for what they used to be, for what they will become.

Their lifts higher, their turns sharper than they would ever attempt during the day. When she looks into his eyes, she feels it deep within her, the connection she knows she can’t take for granted, not now.

But the next day, with the masters watching, sunlight streaming through the windows, it’s like they’ve lost something. They’re never as perfect in front of others as they can be, as they were on their own. And Katniss doesn’t know how to fix it.

“This dressing room is going to be a place of peace, Katniss,” Johanna says, looking up from her own bag. “None of this banging about.”

Katniss blinks at Johanna. “A place of peace? Are you high?”

“I don’t think you understand what the season, the summer season especially, is like. You’ll—”

Johanna is interrupted by a knock on the door. A woman Katniss doesn’t recognize peeks her head in. “Everdeen and Mason?” Katniss nods in response.

The woman enters, rolling a long rack with her, tutu after tutu hanging. “I’m Venia, I’ll be your dresser this season.”

“Oh, hi!” Johanna exclaims. “I’m Johanna.” She stands and gives the woman her undivided attention.

Katniss gives her a strange look. She’s never heard Johanna this excited about anything.

“I have some costumes here Octavia wants you to try on when you get a chance, I think you two have had your fittings done for everything?”

“Everything but Cinderella,” Johanna confirms. Venia looks to Katniss.

“Oh, yeah, I think I’ve had everything fitted,” Katniss says, a little late.

Venia purses her lips. “Good. Stop by Wardrobe later . . . you’re Mason?” Johanna nods. “We’ll see if we can get that last one sorted out. For now, take these.” She grabs two tutus off the rack and thrusts them at the dancers.

“Bluebird and a Myrtha.”

Katniss reaches for the blue tutu, while Johanna takes the Romantic one, flowing and white.

“Thank you, Venia,” Johanna smiles, actually smiles at her. Katniss follows her lead, turning the corners of her mouth up, and Venia gives them a wave as she continues down the hallway.

“What was that about?” Katniss prods Johanna with her elbow. “That’s the nicest I’ve ever seen you, and that includes that time I met your sponsors.”

Johanna raises her eyebrows.

“Respect the dressers, Katniss. They will save you. I mean literally save you. Once, someone stole the top half of my costume for the pas de quatre, and they found me a new one thirty seconds before my entrance. I almost had to go out onstage with my tits out. Which might have gotten me a better review, now that I think about it.”

Johanna’s eyes lose their focus. “I still know it, word for word. ‘Ms. Mason showed that her promotion to soloist may have been premature, with heavy arms and unsupported turns.’”

Katniss makes a face. “Yikes.”

Johanna shrugs. “Cressida never liked me, not even when I was in the corps. You ready?”

“You go ahead, I want to unpack a little more.” Katniss gestures to her still zipped luggage. “Don’t leave it too long,” Johanna calls on her way out, “Plutarch likes to make the first stage class a total bitch.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Katniss yells after her, then sets to unloading her shoes first, making a little mountain on the floor. She’s just started on her makeup when there’s a soft knock.

“Jo?”

Katniss’ head snaps up. Peeta’s leaning just inside the door, looking around. His eyes find Katniss, and he smiles, but she can detect something guilty in his expression.

“Hey. Have you seen Johanna?”

“She’s um, at the stage already,” Katniss stutters.

“Oh, okay.” Peeta starts to walk away, then turns back. “Are you coming? I hear the first class onstage is extra hard, like Plutarch wants to break the stage in or something.”

Katniss has that feeling again, like she’s discovered something she shouldn’t, like her skin is too tight. “Uh, yeah,” she says after Peeta looks at her questioningly. “Let me just grab my stuff.”

Getting to her feet, she slings her bag over her shoulder, following Peeta out the door and to the stage, feeling her heart sink with every step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [New _Diana and Actaeon_ coda](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nI9O9sKh8bI&t=8m26s)
> 
> [ _The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude_ ](https://vimeo.com/112429439)
> 
> [Fairy dance](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9sr8cBab_eo&t=3m50s)
> 
> [_La Bayadère_ pas de quatre](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uvU7tAgimbU)


	7. Chapter 7

The stage of the opera house is no less impressive than the first time Katniss stepped foot on it, all those months ago. She gazes upwards and outwards, looking from the orchestra to the last row of the balcony, knowing that soon, there will be audience members in those seats, there to see her. She hopes she can live up to their expectations.

Plutarch claps, calling them all to order, and Katniss starts at the sound. She’d managed to lose herself in those minutes she’d stared out into the house, and reality crashing around her is jarring.

Katniss breathes out. She’s had enough experience with pain to know ripping off the tape is the best way to get through it, but it’s still not something she’s ready for. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her, why she feels hurt, or betrayed, but she doesn’t have time to think about it.

“Peeta was looking for you.” Her voice is a little shriller than normal, but Katniss thinks she sounds nonchalant enough for Johanna not to notice her distress.

Johanna nods, unconcerned. “He found me.”

Katniss opens her mouth to ask something, exactly what she’s not sure, she’s letting her emotions do the talking, but Plutarch is barking out the plié combination and she loses her chance.

An hour and a half later, Katniss now understands the warnings about Plutarch’s first stage class. She walks stiff-legged from the neverending jump combinations back to her dressing room, and collapses onto the floor, still breathing heavily, putting her legs up on a chair for elevation.

“Told you,” she hears somewhere above her. Katniss can’t even open her eyes as she responds with an exhausted sigh.

“I have _Seven Sonatas_ now, I’ll see you for spacing rehearsal later, though. I always forget just how wide that stage is. Traveling. You know.”

Katniss wrenches her eyes open, and nods, watching as Jo loads up her bag.

She’s just about to the door when Katniss comes to a decision. She calls her name, and Johanna turns. Katniss sits up.

“Why was Peeta looking for you?” This time her voice is noticeably higher, but Katniss forces a calm look onto her face, even as her breath continues to come quickly.

To her surprise, Johanna looks thoughtful. Katniss had expected mocking, or perhaps even derision from her, but Johanna’s voice is almost kind as she says, “You should ask him. I think he’d want to tell you himself.”

* * *

The next week passes quickly, rehearsal after rehearsal. Staging, adjusting spacing to adapt to the stage. Sometimes Katniss feels swallowed up by its largeness, never more so than when she’s alone on the stage, performing variation after variation.

She comes to look forward to Little Swans more than anything, a single minute where she’s part of something larger than herself, hands joined with the girls around her, moving in unison.

Then tech, where they stand around for what feels like hours while the lighting is set. Dress, finally, where it’s almost a performance, costumes and makeup, except for when they stop and the calls of “Next cast, please!” come over the mic.

It almost becomes a blur, Peeta lifting her, turning her, every single day. Their rehearsals are deemed acceptable by Plutarch, and by extension, Snow, from his throne out in the house, but Katniss still feels like there’s something missing, something that they used to have and has since been lost. More than there was before.

She hasn’t asked about Johanna. She doesn’t think she can.

* * *

There’s a frisson of energy thrumming through the opera house on opening night.

It’s not the biggest performance of the season, or the most important, that honor going to the gala, but Katniss can feel the nerves building within her. Something about beginnings, poised on the edge of a precipice, the brief moment of weightlessness before the fall filling her with tension. She’s managed to keep her nerves under control throughout the rehearsal process, but something about seeing her name on the company roster in the second section, the soloist section, makes everything hit home for her.

She’s about to make her debut.

As a soloist.

The youngest one in company history.

Regardless of how she got there, and what it’s done to her relationships to do so, the fact remains that she, Katniss Everdeen, is about to debut with the most important ballet company in the entire country. In her wildest dreams, she’d never allowed herself to imagine this. The corps, perhaps. Maybe even a promotion after years of hard work. But it’s instead it’s happening now. Tonight.

She’s come a long way from Twelve.

Katniss wishes Prim could be here, but the enormous bouquet of flowers in her dressing room goes a long way toward feeling like her sister is in the audience. And with Gale in the corps, it’s almost like having family with her. Katniss feels a twinge of guilt, having kept him at arm’s length after their argument, but tonight, of all nights, she resolves to seek him out. This is important. For both of them. They’re living their dreams. Together.

And then, of course, there’s Peeta.

* * *

The warm-up room is already busy when Katniss enters, half her make-up on, turkey sandwich eaten, tights and thick socks over her flat shoes. She nods a greeting to Finnick, who’s deep in a lunge, and settles herself at a barre next to Thresh.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you at all,” she says, sliding her leg down the barre and then hauling herself back to her standing leg. “How are things going?”

Thresh shrugs. “Good. I think? It’s hard being the tall guy, always in the back, but I don’t get yelled at too much.”

Lukida parks herself next to Katniss, and it almost feels like it’s not opening night, the start of their careers. Instead it’s just another Prix class, their futures still unwritten, still worrying over a single variation that will determine where they’ll go from here. Katniss can’t even be angry when Cato sidles up next to Thresh. He was there, too. He knows.

When Peeta finally joins their little group, it feels like something clicking into place, the final piece. They don’t linger over the moment, no smiles, just pliés and port de bras, but they regard each other with the nostalgic familiarity of a shared history. They’re the ones who made it, who survived, who turned their dreams into whatever it is they have now. They leave with little fanfare, nods and merdes, back to makeup and nerves.

Katniss shares a glance with Peeta as they walk down the hallway, back to their dressing rooms. He seems unperturbed, warm-up pants over his white tights, giving Katniss a warm, easy smile.

“You don’t seem nervous at all,” she says, her tone colored by her confusion.

Peeta shrugs. “I figure nothing can be worse than when we waited to go on at the Prix. Remember?”

Katniss’ lips quirk up, despite herself. She remembers, all too well. The rising panic, tempered by Peeta’s comforting, steady presence. And then Katniss remembers Peeta’s confession, the feel of his lips against her cheek.

She puts it out of her mind.

“Yeah, but for the Prix, we went on . . . and admittedly, had to deal with the biggest disaster possible—”

Peeta snorts.

“—but once it was over, it was over. This is the beginning of the rest of our lives.”

Peeta raises his eyebrows. “Are you trying to make me nervous?”

“No, no,” Katniss says, shaking her head. “I just wish I could be like you, that’s all. Strong. Ready.”

Something in Peeta’s face softens, and his head tilts as he looks at her. As they arrive at her dressing room. Katniss swallows. “Well, I’ll see you out there. Stay, uh, not nervous, I guess.”

Peeta smiles, one eyebrow cocked. “See you backstage.”

She watches him lope down the hallway, then ducks through the open door, to find Johanna halfway through her make-up.

“You ready for this?” Johanna asks, her words distorted by her open mouth as she applies one of her fake eyelashes.

Katniss is about to answer, although whether the word that comes out of her mouth is going to be a yes or a no still up in the air, when there’s a knock on the door. Turning, Katniss sees Cinna peeking his head into the dressing room. “I just wanted to wish you merde for tonight,” he says, his last few words becoming muffled as Katniss throws her arms around him.

“I didn’t know if you were coming,” she breathes.

Cinna pulls back, holding her at arm’s length. “I wouldn’t miss your debut. Not for the world.”

Katniss feels tears beginning to prick at her eyes, seeing the way Cinna is looking at her, with nothing but pride in his gaze. He sees the glassiness and begins to fan his hands at her. “None of that, we can’t have you ruining your make-up.” Katniss laughs, giving him a watery grin, and blots the tears away before they fall.

“Thank you, Cinna,” Katniss says, trying to put the depth of the emotions she’s feeling into the simple phrase.

“I didn’t work with you on that attitude passé sequence for weeks for nothing,” he replies, jokingly. “I’m invested now.”

Katniss rolls her eyes, then starts at the half hour call coming over the loudspeaker. Cinna departs with a kiss and reminder to keep her attitude high, which Katniss murmurs to herself as she applies the rest of her makeup. Nothing as dramatic as the last time she appeared on the stage, but enough to keep her features visible. Johanna is the next to go, leaving behind a whiff of Tiger Balm and a reminder that they’re onstage in “Act 1, and that’s the beginning of Act 1, Katniss, so don’t leave it too late, I’m not saving you again.”

Katniss nods at her in the mirror, still in an anticipatory state, something that dissipates the minute she steps into her costume.

It’s nothing remarkable, fake laces over a bodice, a long skirt, flowers in her hair. Nowhere near as intimidating as a full classical tutu, pancake flat, one of which is hanging on the rack for tomorrow’s performance. But as Venia does up her back and fluffs her skirts, her situation becomes real.

This is happening.

Katniss’ breath quickens.

She makes her way backstage almost as if she’s in a dream, her feet leading her as her body goes numb. The curtain only goes so far in muffling what sounds like a full opera house on the other side, and the various groups warming up only ramp up Katniss’ chaotic nerves. Someone touches her elbow.

“Hey,” Gale says, his eyes wary.

For a moment, Katniss almost glares back, the lingering resentment she feels making one last-ditch effort to rise, but the weight of their shared history crashes through any barriers she’d set up against him. Her oldest friend stands in front of her, on the biggest night of their lives so far. She can’t keep herself distant, not tonight.

“Hey,” Katniss says back, letting herself smile. At the sight of it, Gale’s shoulders sag, releasing the tension he’d been holding. He grins at her.

He gestures at the stage, clearly relieved at her reaction. “Just like we’d imagined, huh?”

“I don’t think either of us imagined _this_ ,” Katniss says, gesturing at her costume, her brighter, more intricate peasant fare standing out against Gale’s muted browns. “But yeah. We did it.” Her voice is sincere. They did do it. They made it. Against all odds, and nowhere near the journey she’d planned out for them, but they’re here.

Gale looks indecisive for a moment, then his face resolves itself into a resigned frown. “Look, Katniss, what I said—”

“Forget it, Gale.” Katniss shakes her head at him. “I know.” And she does. She knows what he’s doing, the same thing she would have done in his shoes. He’s surviving.

He smiles ruefully. “Okay. Merde, yeah?”

Katniss nods. “Merde.” She relevés up, hugging him around the neck, releasing him quickly. She may have put her feelings aside, but she isn’t one to go overboard. One jerk of a grin later, she’s moving on, walking across the stage, dodging a pirouetting couple, feeling Gale’s eyes on her back. It’s enough, Katniss reasons to herself. It’s a start.

She finds Johanna downstage right, scrutinizing Finnick and Cashmere as they run through various lifts.

“Faster into the plié hops,” Johanna calls.

“Hey,” Katniss says, looking around at their downstage corner of the stage. “Have you seen Peeta?”

Johanna gestures with her chin into the wings. “Rosin,” she says, shortly, her eyes fixed on where Finnick has Cashmere upside down over his head. Katniss can’t help but be impressed. Even after months spent watching Finnick rehearse, his artistry remains something to see, especially up close.

“Keep lift rising,” Katniss hears from over her shoulder. She turns to see Mags in the Queen’s costume making her way toward them. “If stay still, no one care.”

Finnick deposits Cashmere unceremoniously on the ground, bowing his head in respect, although if it’s for the royal costume or Mags herself, Katniss can’t quite tell. He begins to protest that there is only so far his arms can go, but Katniss’ attention is taken by the sight of Peeta crossing over to their group, shoes freshly rosined and looking just as calm as when Katniss last saw him.

He raises an eyebrow once he reaches her, nodding at where Mags appears to be pulling Finnick’s arm out of its socket. “Seems a bit late to be working on that, don’t you think?” Katniss laughs, despite herself, her nerves temporarily forgotten at the absurdity of the sight in front of her.

Peeta smiles at the sound, clearly relieved at her reaction. “See, it’s not all doom and gloom.”

Katniss smacks him lightly on the arm. “Yeah, but then you had to go and remind me.” She mock glares at him. Peeta raises his eyebrows, his expression mild.

“I think it’d be pretty hard to forget,” he says, nodding his head at the pockets of dancers that surround them, all turning in various directions. “Speaking of, did you want to run anything? I know that last time . . . ” Peeta trails off, but Katniss remembers. Whip turn after whip turn, her spot taking up all her focus. Forgetting what lay before them.

Katniss smiles wryly. Placing her feet into a narrow fourth, she prepares, waiting for Peeta’s hands to settle on her waist. Snapping up, the motion by now familiar, spotting once, twice, and then holding herself tall as Peeta slows and balances her. No wobbles, no fumbling. She smiles again, no irony this time, “I think we’re good.”

“I wasn’t really worried, I was just trying to keep you from getting too—”

Katniss cuts him off. “I know.” She looks at him, noticing just how close their faces are as she balances en pointe. At this distance, she can see every single one of his eyelashes. Katniss feels her nerves returning, but she knows this time they have nothing to do with the performance only minutes away. Flustered, she steps out of her passé.

“Oh good,” Johanna says, coming up beside her. “I wanted to run the end. Hold this,” she states rather than asks, pushing a water bottle and fleece into Katniss’ hands.

Katniss has never watched them head-on before, usually too preoccupied with trying to hold her arabesque to pay attention to the way Johanna floats through her pirouette, lifting her magnificent attitude behind her, arm curving over her head. It’s beautiful.

“Perfect,” Katniss pronounces them, and finds that she means it. She smiles a little, despite herself. She may still be unsteady, but she knows beautiful dancing when she sees it.

Johanna takes back her water bottle, taking a swig, as Peeta’s eyes focus somewhere over Katniss’ shoulder. “I think we’re meant to join that?” he says, nodding toward center stage.

The circle forming reminds Katniss of just how close they are to curtain, and she gulps. “Looks like,” she says, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

Peeta offers her a pinky. “Don’t want to curse our debuts, do we?”

Katniss smiles. “We can’t have that.” She takes his pinky, Johanna on his other side, and almost in an instant, the loose clumps of dancers on the stage morph into a single giant ring, encircling the entire stage. Katniss looks to her right and finds Thresh. She links her pinky with his as he grins at her.

“Here we go,” he says.

A small break appears across from them, and Snow, followed by Plutarch, strides center stage, the epicenter of their circle.

“Another season.” Snow’s voice carries through the silence enveloping the stage, the buzz of the crowd only just noticeable through the curtain.

Katniss feels like she’s back on this stage for the very first time, like she’s back during the Prix. Snow, Peeta, Plutarch, even Johanna. All of them, in their places.

“Where we will show this city, this country, who we are. What we stand for. And what that is, company members, is perfection. You will be perfect. We will be perfect. Because you represent me. And I will stand for nothing less.” Plutarch is nodding along like Snow’s words are an inspiration, but all Katniss can hear is the threat behind them. Striving for perfection is nothing new to her, but the stakes have never been so high, their first test imminent. She tightens her grip on Peeta’s pinky.

“I don’t know why he thinks this is going to get us to perform better,” Peeta mutters to her. Katniss flicks her eyes to him. “Be perfect or else?”

“Well how would you do it?” Katniss whispers.

Peeta opens his mouth to respond, but Snow’s eyes are passing over them, and both Katniss and Peeta turn their gazes to the ground, deferential.

“Lead by example,” Peeta whispers, when the coast is clear. “Inspire. You know. Like Mr. A does.”

Katniss lets out a snort. “Inspiring is not a word I’d apply to Mr. A.”

Peeta laughs, quietly, as Snow continues his speech. “But when he asks you to do well, you want to, you know?”

Katniss thinks for a second, and realizes he’s right. “Too bad he’s not here now, maybe I’d feel better about tonight.”

“We’ll be fine. We’ve rehearsed, we’ve prepared. That’s all we can do.”

“Is it?” Katniss asks. Rehearsal is one thing, but a performance is something else entirely. There’s something more than just performing steps onstage. And in their case, especially, it’s not enough.

Peeta looks confused, but then the company is bowing and curtsying around them, and Katniss realizes Snow has stopped speaking. She drops a belated curtsy as his eyes fix on her, and she knows their inattention has been noticed. It feels like an act of rebellion, albeit a small one, but it gives Katniss the courage to lift her chin, defiant.

Katniss keeps her head high as she waits for the squeeze, passing it along to Peeta when it comes from Thresh, and murmurs “Merde,” along with the rest of the company when the circle has been completed, her eyes locked with Snow’s. Here, with Peeta by her side, surrounded by the company Snow had dared them to join, Katniss realizes that Snow’s threats, dire as they may be, hold the least amount of power of her in this moment. The audience, the sponsors, the critics, they will be the true judge of Katniss’ success now, not Snow. Just as it was in the Prix.

The thought calms her, somehow.

“Katniss?” Peeta says.

She turns to look at him, smiling. “Let’s do this,” she says.

Peeta frowns at her sudden change in demeanor. “You okay?”

“Never better.” Katniss pulls off her leg warmers, and gestures expectantly to Peeta, who’s still looking confused. “We’ve got this.”

She walks offstage.

The curtain rises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _Seven Sonatas_ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kXpK6ojahGM&t=0m29s)


End file.
